Triune
by missmandamargo
Summary: "A true friend reaches for your hand and touches your heart." This is a different kind of love story. Unholy Trinity fic, threesome, Fabrittana, Quittana.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This started out as a love child idea I had in my head for the three of them to be in a relationship together. I wrote this initially as a oneshot but I'd be willing to continue it if enough people wanted to see it. If not then it's just PWP and I hope you enjoy.

Also: warnings for pregnant!Quinn and threesome!sex. Fabrittana all the way in this story. Give it a chance, you might like it.

* * *

It started for Quinn while she was pregnant.

By then, it was the worst-kept secret of McKinley that Brittany and Santana slept together.

Quinn heard about it from Mercedes, but only because she was discussing it with Kurt over the salad bar. It was the first time Quinn heard anyone talk about it aloud, and the information was surprising - but only because Quinn thought that everyone knew and it was old news by now.

She assumed they had been doing it since before she met them. It was always obvious to her, and it surprised her that anyone felt the need to gossip about it.

It made her curious, she did have to admit. Quinn had always wondered what the appeal was.. but she only had to look down at her thickening waist to realize that there was definitely more than one reason to avoid boys, if you weren't completely against the idea.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized she wasn't against it. At all. In fact, it intrigued her.

It took her several weeks to work up the nerve to approach them about it.

The three of them were getting ready for the winter formal together in Santana's room. Quinn felt awkward and clumsy, even in her "junior maternity" dress she made Puck buy for her out of his saved pool cleaning money. She was going with him to the dance, even though it was an empty formality that paid lip-service to their relationship. Left to her own devices, Quinn would have rather stayed in Puck's room all night, eating ice cream out of the container and watching documentaries on Animal Planet while Puck gave her a break and bothered some other girl for the evening. But Puck's mom insisted, and since Quinn felt it prudent to at least make an effort not to upset her, she agreed to go.

"So.. you guys don't have dates to this thing?" Quinn asked, even though she knew the answer.

Brittany was applying the last layer of makeup to her face while Santana delicately twisted strands of Brittany's hair around a curling iron.

"We're going together," Brittany said flippantly.

Quinn watched the way Santana flashed Brittany an annoyed look in the mirror of her vanity.

"Technically we're just riding together," Santana added.

Quinn didn't miss the way Brittany rolled her eyes.

"Are you two.. like a thing?" Quinn ventured.

Santana let the curling iron snap closed after releasing a lock of Brittany's hair. "Sometimes."

Brittany smirked and Santana set her jaw, and Quinn could feel the heavy subtext in the room.

She tried to think of a way to broach the subject without sounding insane.

"Do either of you ever.. have a thing.. with other girls?"

Quinn watched Santana's eyes snap upwards and focus on hers in the reflection of the mirror. Quinn could see the wheels turning as Santana processed what Quinn said.

"Oh, sometimes." Brittany replied, both as if it were no big deal and as if she didn't understand the full implication of the question.

"Why, Q?" Santana asked, deciding to avoid dancing around the subject. She let another lock pelf Brittany's hair fall and she caught it with her palm, delicately, so the heat wouldn't burn Brittany's bare neck and shoulders. "You.. a little curious?"

Quinn bit her lip. She knew that admitting it would be sacrificing some of her dignity, but the fact that she was watching her two perfectly-bodied, fit and sexy friends get ready for a dance while wearing a maternity dress meant she had little left to lose anyway.

"It's just these damn hormones," Quinn said with a sigh. She nervously hooked her fingers together in front of her, trying not to emphasize her baby belly, but failing miserably.

Santana clicked the curling iron off and turned around. She faced Quinn with her back resting against the edge of the vanity. Brittany rubbed the pad of her finger over her lips one last time and then she swiveled around in the chair to face Quinn as well.

Quinn was a bit nervous at the way they were looking at her, and the way Santana's lips curved in a smug, knowing smirk. "Puck not satisfying you? I tried to tell you he wasn't worth the time."

"You're horny," Brittany said, and her tone was empathetic.

"I'm not even letting Puck sleep in bed with me," Quinn said, wrinkling her nose. "He smells like an actual pig.. which doesn't even make sense, because he doesn't eat pork."

Santana nodded, and she shared a long glance with Brittany before she crossed her arms and then gave Quinn a sly smile. "Well, that's just tragic, Q," She said. "Because you're damn beautiful pregnant."

It took Quinn aback a little bit to hear Santana say that. She was still tripping over that sentence when Brittany stood up. "We'll take care of you, if you want," She said, as if it were the most natural and casual thing in the world.

Quinn sputtered, her mind reeling. "What? Both of you?"

Santana shrugged, and dipped her head in a nod. It was Brittany who actually replied, though, with, "Of course. What did you think?"

Quinn snapped her jaw shut and tried to wrap her mind around it. It was bizarre to even be considering what she was considering, but with both of them? At once? It seemed crazy, like the plotline to a bad porno.

"Just think about it, Quinn." Santana ordered, and she slid the palm of her hand against the small of Brittany's back, leading her gently towards the door.

Quinn followed after them, and she spent the whole rest of the night thinking about what it would be like, lying naked with them, with hands and mouths touching and limbs sliding against each other.

It made her wet enough to consider banging Puckerman when they got home from the dance, but he smelled of alcohol and he passed out as soon as they got up into his room.

She let the days pass, because she didn't want to seem too eager. She called Santana on a Thursday night and said simply, "I'm in."

Quinn could swear she heard Santana grin through the phoneline. "Excellent." There was a moment's pause and then she said, "Tomorrow good for you? My place?"

Quinn swallowed and then huffed out a silent breath. "Yes."

"Great." Santana replied. "See you tomorrow, Q."

"Bye." Quinn said on a sigh, and she ended the call. She knew there was still time to change her mind, but she realized she didn't want to. There were very few things that could excite her anymore, and she wasn't going to turn her back on this, even if all her own demons whispered to her about how it was wrong, or immoral, or a sin.

She'd already screwed up a number of God's laws, what were a few more, really, in the long run?

She packed an overnight bag and let herself into Santana's house, per Santana's text instructions. Quinn realized immediately that Santana's parents were gone, and so was her little brother, Martin. The house was unusually quiet, except for the faint sound of music drifting out of Santana's cracked bedroom door.

Quinn grunted and grit her teeth against the way it was a struggle to clamber up the stairs. She wasn't hugely pregnant yet, but the extra weight made her back ache and her hips hurt, and she avoided inclines if she could.

She nudged the door to Santana's room open, and she saw Brittany sitting on Santana's bed while Santana braided Brittany's hair. She sat her knapsack down and then closed the door behind her.

"Hey, Quinn." Brittany said, her tone light.

"Hey."

"Take a seat, blondie." Santana said, and she snapped a rubber band around the end of Brittany's hair.

Quinn walked over and perched on the edge of the bed, folding her hands in her lap. She watched as Santana turned away from Brittany, and after changing the music on her iPod to something that was low and soothing and jazzy, began to light candles scattered all over the room.

Quinn's eyes widened. "You don't have to do that." Her cheeks felt hot.

"Yeah, we do." Brittany said, and her smile was big. "It has to be special."

"It's the first time Britt and I are having a threesome with another girl," Santana explained over her shoulder. "She's excited."

Quinn looked over to Brittany, who nodded happily.

She began twisting her fingers in her lap, because now that she was here she felt anxious.

"You don't have to be nervous, Q." Santana said, once she'd finished lighting the candles and drawing the curtains closed. Santana's already dark room went dim, with only the gold flicker of the candles as illumination.

"We'll be gentle." Brittany smiled reassuringly.

"Unless you don't want us to be," Santana added with a wicked smirk. She began casually stripping, pulling off her thin t-shirt to reveal a black lacy bra. Quinn watched as she nudged her loose sweatpants down her hips, and even though she had seen them countless times, Quinn felt her mouth go dry at the sight of Santana's long legs in the soft golden light.

"Like what you see, Q?" Santana gave Quinn a knowing smile. "I always thought you had the hots for me."

Quinn nearly stuttered, but she regained her composure quickly. "Not really." She cocked her head at Santana's raised eyebrows. "I have more of a thing for blondes."

Santana's face tightened, and she shifted her eyes between Quinn and Brittany. "Prove it." She said, gesturing with one hand. "Kiss her."

Quinn didn't have time to react, because Brittany scooted across the bed so quickly. She had a moment to register that Brittany's eyes looked gray in the candlelight before Brittany was cupping her cheek with one hand and then, with a gentle tug, she pulled her face close and pressed her lips into Quinn's.

It was a shock, because it was different from any other kiss she had ever experienced. Brittany's hands and lips were soft, and Brittany's skin smelled clean, like soap and vanilla. She took a moment to simply feel, before she slowly shifted and angled her head, fitting their faces closer together. Quinn parted her lips when she felt Brittany gently rub her tongue out along the crease, and she felt her breath hitch and catch when Brittany swallowed her bottom lip into her mouth and sucked.

Brittany's other hand reached up and tangled in Quinn's hair, and she hummed appreciatively when Brittany's tongue finally slid inside her mouth, lapping over her own tongue and teeth. The sensation drew out quick, strangled breaths and Quinn found her hands grasping her own pants tightly.

Brittany didn't taste anything like any of the boys she'd ever kissed, either. She was sweet and fresh and reminded Quinn of the sugary wine coolers she had occasionally indulged in.

Brittany was a skilled kisser. She moved her tongue inside of Quinn's mouth expertly, and it was sweet and hot at once, not at all forceful or overeager. Brittany kept sweeping her thumb against Quinn's face, brushing against her cheekbone, and it made Quinn shiver.

Brittany peeled back and when Quinn slowly opened her eyes, she focused on Brittany's face and she saw the gentle way Brittany was smiling into her eyes.

"That was so fucking hot," Santana said, and Quinn looked at her. She was hovering near the edge of the bed in only her lace panties and bra, and Quinn saw something unfamiliar on her face - a kind of predatory hunger. Her pupils were large and dark, and the way she swept her eyes over Quinn made her shudder.

"Get naked, Britt," Santana husked, but she kept her eyes trained on Quinn while Brittany hopped up from the bed. Santana immediately took her place and Quinn's stomach dropped and her heart skipped a beat when she felt Santana's hands smooth over her thighs, palm down, before she leaned in and pressed their lips together.

Santana was almost the polar opposite of Brittany. Where Britt was sweet and patient, Santana was rough and demanding, but it still was nothing like the coarse, hard mouth of Puck or Finn's sloppy imprecision. No, Santana was like hot satin, and she wasted no time dipping her tongue into Quinn's mouth, hungrily. A noise from deep inside Santana's throat vibrated between them, and it made Quinn pinch her thighs together and shift against the sudden, persistent throbbing between her legs.

Santana's mouth was boiling and furious, and Quinn struggled to keep up. She panted against Santana when she felt Santana's hands sweep up and tighten in her hair, pulling her closer. The more Quinn's tongue swept inside of Santana's mouth, the more she realized that Santana tasted like something dark and dangerous and a little bit bitter, like tequila. It tied her stomach in knots and made her hands tremble.

"Santana," Brittany whined. "No fair."

Santana grunted, and when she pulled away she had Quinn's bottom lip caught between her teeth. She let it drag roughly before she finally released it. It made Quinn suck in a hissing breath and she flicked her tongue over it, tasting the way it was swollen and hot.

Brittany sat down on the other side of Quinn and her heart knocked in her chest, filled with anxiety. She kept sucking on her lip and she looked between Santana and Brittany, a little bit intimidated by how confident and easy they were, just sitting there in their underwear. Brittany's was bubblegum pink with white polka dots and Quinn stared at the muscles on Britt's stomach.

"Get comfy, Quinn." Santana said, and she stood up quickly and pulled Quinn's cardigan off. It left Quinn wearing a loose, billowy white top with tight black leggings underneath. She looked up helplessly at Santana and then over at Brittany, who only smiled at her and tucked a loose lock of Quinn's hair behind her ear.

"Santana gets bossy sometimes," Brittany explained. She shifted up and crawled towards the head of the bed, where Santana had a mountain of pillows. She patted the blankets until, reluctantly, Quinn followed. She shifted and sat until her back was resting against the pillows and Brittany began running her fingers through Quinn's hair.

"Don't act like you don't like it," Santana said, and she and Brittany shared a look that Quinn couldn't penetrate.

"We have to be easy with Quinn," Brittany said in response. "She's like a delicate flower with a baby tree troll inside."

Santana snorted, and she crawled up the length of the bed now, until she was kneeling in front of Quinn. "Or she's like a horny, pregnant teenager."

Brittany tilted her head and then she nodded. "Yeah. That too."

"I'm gonna take these off, okay, Q?" Santana said, indicating the black, stretchy leggings that clung to Quinn's body.

Quinn just nodded, and she shifted as Santana hooked her fingers around the hem of her pants and slowly peeled them downwards. She flushed when she saw Santana's eyes linger on her underwear, which were white cotton granny panties that sagged in the butt but were too tight around the waist. She pulled her legs free and then drew her knees up to shield herself from Santana's eyes.

"Ugh, you're so sexy," Santana breathed, and Quinn's breath hitched in her chest when she felt Santana lean forward and kiss first one of her knees, and then the other.

"Santana likes you pregnant." Brittany murmured, and her fingers were slowly stroking Quinn's scalp, drawing out tingles along her neck and hairline. "I think she has a foot-fish."

Santana drew back enough to scowl at Brittany, and she lingered a kiss against the inside crook of Quinn's knee, parting her legs. "It's fetish, Britt." Quinn's chest was tight and she watched nervously as Santana slowly edged forward, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh now, coaxing them further and further apart. "And I don't have one."

Brittany giggled, and Quinn let out a startled gasp as Brittany slowly began kissing up the line of her jaw. Quinn's head swam dizzily at the dual sensation of Santana's hot, wet mouth dragging against one thigh, and then the other, and the more intense and overwhelming feeling of Brittany's lips skating across her face and neck, before she slowly sucked Quinn's earlobe into her mouth. Quinn's breath hitched and caught, and the muscles in her thighs trembled. Her fingers gripped the top of the bedspread desperately.

"I don't know what fish have to do with pregnant people," Britt whispered softly against Quinn's cheek, and then she licked and nipped at the sensitive shell of Quinn's ear. Quinn couldn't help the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head and how she groaned. She didn't even realize that Santana was now kneeling between her legs, and she leaned upwards, running the flat of her palms against the inside of Quinn's thighs, up and down, from her knees to the juncture point.

"Britt, stop talking," Santana said quietly.

Brittany pulled her mouth away from Quinn's ear and frowned at Santana. Quinn sucked in ragged, panting breaths and she squirmed against Santana's hands, her legs twitching and trembling.

"She doesn't like me to talk _during_," Brittany said, and Quinn could hear the pout in her voice.

Santana rolled her eyes, and this time, when her hands made their downward journey, she applied gentle pressure from her nails. The soft scratching made Quinn bite her lip and swallow.

"Brittany, I love it when you talk during," Santana said. "Remember? It just has to be the right kind of talking."

"Oh," Brittany's eyebrows shot up and then a quick grin overtook her face. "Yeah. I remember. That was fun." She looked between Quinn and Santana then. "Can I do that now?"

Santana let out a nervous little cough. Her hands never stopped sliding up, down, up, down, and it felt like each individual finger was trailing fire along Quinn's thighs. "I don't think Quinn's quite ready for that yet."

"Maybe next time," Brittany said.

Quinn knew that this whole situation was insane. She kept looking between them, following their conversation with lidded eyes. "You're both lunatics," She managed around a huffed breath.

Brittany laughed and Santana scowled, and Quinn jumped at the way Santana shifted suddenly and drew both of her hands, palms flat, against the place where pelvis met leg and gripped there. Her abrupt forcefulness made Quinn's heart clutch and jumble in her chest and her lungs freeze.

"Don't insult the people who are about to give you multiple orgasms," Santana said lowly. Her eyes flashed and Quinn's whole body tensed at the way Santana was clutching her.

"That's a little arrogant, isn't it?" Quinn didn't know where she got the strength to say those words, because it made Santana grip her and yank her until she was lying flat against the bed, pressed into the mattress. Quinn let out a surprised shriek at the suddenness of it.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," Santana whispered, and Quinn's heart trembled in her chest and her insides tightened and tangled in hot, wet knots.

"Ooh," Brittany said from beside her, and Quinn heard the way her voice was low and thick. "Sexy Santana."

Santana shot Brittany a smoky, knowing look, but there was more than just heat in it when she looked at Brittany. Quinn saw pride, affection, and amusement lighting Santana's dark eyes, and so much love it made Quinn's throat ache.

Brittany slid against the bed so that she was lying beside Quinn, now, and she wound one of her arms underneath Quinn's neck, using the other to draw her in closer. Quinn focused on Brittany's face, at the soft and reassuring pressure of her fingers against her cheek.

Between Quinn's legs, Santana snagged the waistband of Quinn's panties, and she slid them down deftly. Quinn breathed hard because she knew Santana would be able to tell how wet she was. Brittany smiled and kept her eyes locked on Quinn's, and it helped.

Quinn shivered when she felt Santana stroke one long, sure finger against her wetness, and her breath exploded out in a ragged pant. Brittany leaned in and kissed her, then, right as Santana dragged a second finger through her and made everything inside her clench impossibly tighter.

"Fuck," Santana breathed, and it sent chills up her spine. Brittany's tongue danced into Quinn's mouth again, and though she was more urgent and heated, she was still gentle. Brittany was sucking in wet, ragged breaths around their kisses, and the sound of the other girl's breathing made everything thrum and hum inside of Quinn in a way she didn't expect or anticipate.

Santana's fingers continued exploring between Quinn's legs, and she would press occasional kisses against Quinn's thigh or hips. Her touches were light and fleeting, and always had Quinn gasping and grinding, searching for more.

Brittany's hand dropped from around Quinn's face, and she quickly slid it beneath the thin white top Quinn still wore. Quinn shuddered at the light, ticklish pressure against her side, chasing up her ribs, until Brittany's hand cupped one of Quinn's boobs firmly.

She gasped and arched when she felt Brittany's thumb tweak against an already hard nipple, even over the cotton barrier of her bra.

"Whatever you did," Santana murmured, her voice thick and breathy, "Do it again."

So Brittany did, and it made Quinn cry out and squirm hard onto Santana's hand. She broke away from Brittany's kiss, sobbing on air and clutching the bed wildly.

"Time for this to come off," Santana growled, and before she knew what was happening, Santana was hovering over her, sliding her top up and then tugging it over her arms and head. Quinn was still breathing heavily when she felt Brittany's hands slide around her and quickly undid the complicated clasp of her maternity bra.

Suddenly she was naked, and Quinn felt exposed, but she didn't have time to focus on it because Brittany was shifting and tugging at the layer of pillows, and Santana was pressing against her hip and shoulder until she was slowly turning on the mattress, facing Brittany, with one pillow tucked beneath her belly. It was, oddly enough, one of the most comfortable positions she'd ever found for lying on a flat surface.

Santana slid behind her, and Quinn gasped at the feeling of Santana's full body pressed against her back. Santana's skin was warm and smooth, and Quinn could feel Santana's taut stomach against her lower back and the soft push of her breasts, through black lace, against her shoulder blades. But mostly she felt Santana's breath on the back of her neck and her silken lips dragging against the bundle of nerves located at the top of her spine.

Brittany moved in closer, too, until their faces were flush with one another. Quinn struggled to breathe evenly, but all pretense of that was lost when she felt Brittany nudge against her chin until she could press her lips against Quinn's pounding pulse point, and then Brittany opened her mouth, rolling her tongue there and sucking.

At the same time, she felt Santana slide a hand down between them, along her spine, and Quinn thrashed and shuddered against the two sensations. Brittany kept licking and sucking, making her heart pound furiously, and when Santana cupped her sopping center from behind, it made her heart stop.

"Oh, fuck," Quinn moaned, and she gripped at one of Brittany's shoulders to try to steady herself.

"That's right, baby," Santana murmured, and she felt Santana's tongue lick against the back of her ear. It drew out a prolonged and intense full-body shudder.

Brittany pulled back to press soft, gentle kisses against the side of Quinn's face, and then she felt Brittany's hand ghosting down between them until it came to rest near Santana's at the juncture of Quinn's legs.

"Ready?" Santana whispered, and Quinn felt Santana's - she thought it was Santana's - fingers slowly spread her lower lips.

Quinn gasped and panted, with Brittany still showering her face with soft little kisses.

"Yes," Quinn sobbed out, a both with a desperate need for release and in anticipation of relief.

She moaned and clutched at Brittany's shoulder when she felt Santana's fingers slip inside of her. At the same time, Brittany pressed two fingers against her clit. Both of them held still for a heartbeat, giving her the chance to adjust, and it was with a quick kiss from Santana to the back of her neck and another from Brittany to her shuddering, trembling lips, that they began to move in perfect synchronization.

Quinn couldn't help the surprised, high-pitched whines that squeezed out of her throat, at the way Santana was gently rocking two fingers inside of her, slowly drawing them open and sliding them against the secret places inside of her that made her see stars behind her eyelids, and the way Brittany pressed steady but gradually firmer circles on her clit.

It was working to build the most intense and blinding pressure inside of her, a sort of storm that raged so fiercely that she was a little afraid of what would happen when it finally came. Her body didn't feel like it was hers, but at the same time she felt like she knew it more intimately than she ever had in her life, in that moment.

Quinn was clutching desperately at Brittany, squeezing her eyes shut and gasping around sobbing breaths. Her body rocked and slid against Santana and Brittany, and in that frenzied moment she had no idea where one ended and the other began.

Quinn felt Santana shift and the next time she drew her fingers out, a third joined the other two and Quinn felt herself stretch and fill. She grunted and slammed her hips down, and she heard Santana take in a quick breath. Her pace changed then, and Brittany's matched it a moment later. They were now working furiously against her, Santana pounding into her and Brittany rubbing and grinding.

Every muscle in Quinn's body contracted, and a scream caught in her throat as she teetered, paralyzed, before she crashed down and her limbs thrashed and shook, her whole body shuddering continuously in wave after wave. She felt herself suck and tighten around Santana, and Brittany stilled her movements but kept her fingers steady. Slowly, almost achingly, her muscles unwound and she was muffling hot, wet sobs against Brittany's neck as they clutched at each other. Quinn had wrapped her arms around Brittany's shoulders and Brittany disentangled her fingers so that she could hold Quinn back.

Quinn's whole body heaved with her ragged breathing, but Santana's fingers stayed locked inside of Quinn. She waited until Quinn's quakes subsided to tremors before she began to gently rock her hips, pushing against Quinn's backside, making her own body move.

"No," Quinn choked out, and she held Brittany tighter. "I can't. Santana."

"Shh." Santana hugged closer to Quinn, pushing her body firmly against her, and she felt Santana's lips against the back of her neck. "You can. Come again."

Quinn shook her head in refusal, but she groaned and heaved when she felt Santana slowly start to move her fingers again. It was a languid, leisurely pace, but Quinn felt swollen and hot and she couldn't believe the way her body was thrashing and eager even when she was so sensitive and spent.

Quinn felt Santana's teeth nip against the back of her neck, and then her tongue smoothed over the same spot and an instant later she was sucking the flesh into her mouth and her fingers curled inside of Quinn.

Quinn's chest froze on a strangled cry, and then her hips were undulating and rolling again and Santana's fingers were dragging out every bit of her orgasm with long, liquid strokes.

Quinn panted into the cusp of Brittany's arms weakly, her forehead sleek with sweat and her head light and dizzy. She pressed her face into the skin of Brittany's shoulder and repressed a moan at the sensation of Santana slowly, gingerly drawing her fingers out. She felt Santana's arm drift up between them and the scent of herself – slightly different now that she was pregnant than it had been before – filled her nostrils only a moment before she heard the sound of Santana dipping her fingers into her mouth and sucking.

Quinn didn't know why, but she found the thought of that unbearably sexy. She peeked her eyes open enough to watch Santana offer her fingers to Brittany, above her, and she caught the flash of pink as Brittany lapped against Santana's sticky hand.

"Mm." Santana's voice was low and throaty, and Quinn felt it like it was an actual presence sliding down her back. She felt the way Brittany was tensing in her arms, and she slowly relaxed her hold, until Brittany shifted and then, without touching her, slid over her body and onto Santana's.

Quinn shifted and rolled, until she was facing the other two girls. Santana had moved until she was in a sitting position, and Brittany straddled her. Even though every single nerve in Quinn's body was aching and sore, she felt a slight zing of pleasure shoot towards her swollen, wet center at the sight of Brittany's tanned, toned body hovering over Santana's.

Santana rubbed her hands up and down Brittany's sides, gripping her ribs, and Quinn watched, mystified, at the way Santana looked up at and smiled into Brittany's face.

She had come into this under the impression that Santana called the shots, and Brittany did what she was told. But now, looking at them, Quinn got the very distinct idea that that wasn't the case at all.

Santana had that dopey, lovesick expression on her face that meant she worshipped Brittany. And Brittany had a smug, assured smile that let Santana – and Quinn – know that she knew it.

It felt very private, and for a moment, Quinn was sorry to be intruding. She bit her lip and then curled into a ball, her head still on the pillow and her heavy belly cradled between her arms and legs.

Santana glanced down at her, and she gave Quinn a satisfied, knowing smile. It made things twist and churn inside of her that she didn't know how to identify.

"Do you want to touch, too?" Brittany asked, and made both of them look up at her. She was slowly shifting on top of Santana, really just rocking with the way Santana's hands played up and down her ribcage.

Quinn was still gnawing at her lip and she didn't know how to answer the question.

"Yes or no, Quinn," Santana said dryly. Quinn could tell she was impatient.

"I don't know how," Quinn admitted. She felt like it would be rude to not at least _offer_ to reciprocate, even though it looked like the pair of them were so wound up that they would go at each other like feral cats at any moment.

Brittany just hummed and then lifted her leg, sliding off of Santana. Quinn saw the way Santana huffed and pouted at the loss of physical contact.

"Do you want to be the middle, or me?" Britt asked Santana.

Santana eyed Quinn up and down, and Quinn hugged her knees tighter.

"You can." Santana said finally. "I don't have patience for beginners."

Brittany clucked her tongue at Santana and poked a finger into Santana's cheek, in the exact spot where a dimple would appear if Santana smiled. She held her finger there even when Santana tried to turn away, and finally her cheeks swelled with a broad grin.

It was another one of those moments that made Quinn feel like she was encroaching on something private. She shifted uncomfortably against the blankets, aware of how totally naked she was and how sticky her skin was, from sweat and other moisture. She watched as Brittany slid down until she was lying with her head on the pillows, with Santana flanking one side and Quinn on the other. Santana hovered over her and pressed a hard, vicious kiss to Brittany's lips, and Quinn caught herself staring again, watching the way their mouths fused together and listening to the quiet sounds of need that filled the space between them.

Santana was the one who broke the kiss, and she panted and rested her forehead against Brittany's cheek. Quinn took in the way Santana's ribs stretched and expanded against her skin, and the way her body trembled and how she shifted so that her hair was covering her face.

"God, Britt, I'm so close," Santana said in a voice Quinn had never heard before. It was whiny and thin and Quinn felt her stomach muscles tense.

Brittany used her hands to push and tuck Santana's hair back behind her ears, and now Quinn could see that her face was flushed and her eyes were glassy and desperate. She was on her knees and elbows, her face inches above Brittany's, and her body slowly rocked against nothing in that position.

Britt turned her head and looked at Quinn, and she took the invitation to scoot up further until her head was resting on the pillow next to Brittany's. Brittany used her hand to slide her palm along Quinn's forearm and then she gripped Quinn's hand in her own, and Quinn swallowed the beehive of nerves that erupted in her belly the second Britt drew her arm down until her hand was resting low on her stomach.

Quinn watched as Brittany turned back to Santana and she cupped Santana high on her thigh, making Santana wince and suck in a hard breath. Quinn felt paralyzed, with her palm against the firm, flat plane of Brittany's stomach, as she watched Brittany slowly slide her hand along the seam of Santana's black lace panties, and then as her fingers dipped beneath the elastic. She heard both girls let out a muffled noise, Santana's like a grunt, Brittany's like a moan.

Quinn swallowed, and looked up at Brittany's face. Her eyes were closed and she was biting her bottom lip, and her skin was flushed. Quinn tentatively slipped her head forward and pressed a kiss against Brittany's cheek, and then she slid her hand down and beneath Brittany's pink underwear.

It was so hot down there that Quinn was sure it must be scalding. Everything was slippery and wet, and Quinn had no idea it would feel like this. She didn't understand the unfamiliar tightening that happened between her legs, or why touching Brittany would do that to her. She kept shifting her eyes between Brittany's face and Santana's, watching them as they heaved and breathed and rocked.

Santana shifted suddenly, until one of her legs was straddling Brittany's, and she used her own hand to position Brittany's so that she could use Brittany's thigh as leverage. Quinn's belly jumped when Santana slammed herself down onto Brittany, and her cheeks burned when she heard Santana's throaty, grateful moan. Santana began pounding into Brittany's hand, and she felt Brittany flex and shift so that her leg was propped up, and now she was jolting into Santana's thrusts. The air was filled with the slick, wet slapping noise of flesh on flesh, mixed with Santana's grunts and small, whimpery moans.

Quinn got distracted by Santana, and she noticed that Brittany was nudging her hips and fisting the bedspread with her free hand. She quickly slipped her fingers harder into Brittany, noticing the way she groaned and rolled her body. Quinn found Brittany's hard little nub, and she began to make quick circles there.

Brittany's muscles started tensing and releasing, and she saw the way Brittany's chest heaved and choked on air. Quinn slid until her face was tucked against Brittany's neck, and she opened her mouth and slid her tongue out, licking along Brittany's pulse point and then down to her collar bones. Under the wet smacking of Santana into Brittany, she heard Brittany's little moans, quiet and heated, and she began to suck harder while her fingers pressed more eagerly into steady circles.

All at once, Santana was shrieking in a gasp and then pausing her furious motions, and Quinn felt Brittany's head tugged sharply towards Santana. She had wrapped her fingers in Brittany's hair and pulled their faces together, and Quinn watched the way Santana kept her forehead on Brittany's and how her face seemed to spasm between joy and pain while her body trembled, hinging on the precipice. Brittany murmured quiet, loving things and she lifted her free hand to stroke through Santana's hair, and Quinn felt Brittany's wrist pump furiously into Santana, even while her body was frozen. Another desperate, whining cry broke out of Santana's lips and then she was grinding furiously against Brittany, her body shaking and rolling and writhing down as hard as it could.

Quinn's pulse was pounding throughout her entire body and her blood was roaring in her ears, and a warm tingle had taken up dancing along every inch of her skin. She was wide-eyed and fascinated at the sight of Santana unraveling like that. There was something animalistic about it, but also something almost holy.

Santana slumped against Brittany, and Brittany turned her face to press small, sweet kisses against Santana's cheek before she rolled her head back to Quinn.

"Keep going," She whispered.

Quinn nodded, and her hand took up their motions again, tentative circles that became more forceful the more Brittany responded, with quick, dainty gasps. Quinn watched the muscles in Brittany's stomach jump and heave, and she saw the way Brittany's eyes moved beneath her eyelids, as if she were seeing some kind of spectacle there.

Santana slowly rolled until she was cradled against Brittany, and she just slung an arm over her torso, the back of which brushed against Quinn's naked boob. She bit her lip and looked over Brittany's heaving, shuddering chest at Santana, but Santana's eyes were half-open and hazy, and focused on nothing.

Quinn swallowed and then she shifted again until she was nibbling at Brittany's neck, sucking gently on her pulse point and then sending moist, warm kisses along the side of her jaw. Brittany turned her head suddenly and then their mouths were fused together, tongues tangling and dancing while Quinn's hand worked furiously beneath Brittany's underwear.

Quinn felt the bed move and then she heard Santana, dimly, whisper: "Come, Brittany." Brittany's breath hitched into the kiss, and she stole the air from Quinn's lungs and pushed it back with a strangled cry when her torso arched. Quinn could feel Santana's hand moving against Brittany's chest and she heard, faintly, the licking and sucking noises that meant Santana was kissing against Brittany's neck and ear.

Brittany's body arched feverishly against the bed, and then it hung in mid-air and Quinn felt her mouth and jaw vibrate with Brittany's muffled moan. Quinn licked her tongue into Brittany's mouth over and over again while her limbs shuddered and her hips ground into her hand, flooding her fingers and palm with a wave of sticky, damp heat.

Brittany broke away and was panting, her whole body heaving from the force of her breaths. Quinn drew up and she looked down, stunned, at the way Brittany's skin was so slick and hot and how her body continued to tumble and roll. Quinn only stopped moving her fingers when she felt Brittany's hand clamp down on her wrist. Quinn pulled away quickly.

She watched the way that Santana, her limbs all loose and limber, slowly crawled until she was lying completely on top of Brittany. Their bodies were flat against each other, and Santana rested her head on Brittany's chest and slowly opened her eyes to look at Quinn. Quinn watched as one of Brittany's hands came up to smooth down Santana's hair, and the way that Brittany's gasping breaths made Santana's whole body move up and down.

Quinn was surprised by the way Santana reached out between them, and she grabbed at Quinn until Quinn was sliding back snug against Brittany. She was careful not to bump her belly into either one of them, instead allowing for her legs to tangle beneath theirs and her arms to slowly press against the mattress until she was cradling Brittany loosely.

Santana's dark, lazy, sated eyes stayed on Quinn's while they both listened to Brittany breathe in the quiet room. By now, the music on the iPod had switched off and the candles were burning low, flickering dim and weak light.

Quinn shifted until her head was resting on Brittany's shoulder, one of her arms tucked between their bodies and the other laying near Santana's shoulder. Santana watched her movements and her face was completely relaxed. She even drifted out a palm and it made Quinn's stomach jump and flutter at the way Santana rested her hand against the swell between them.

Brittany's arm came down around Quinn and she pressed and nudged until the three of them were seamless, one of her arms resting along the line of Santana's spine and the other holding Quinn close.

Quinn could hear Brittany's heartbeat beneath her skin and she listened to the slow, even way Santana breathed. She watched Santana's eyelids get heavier and heavier until she finally let them close, and soon there was a faint whistling sound that accompanied her breathing.

Quinn didn't know if Brittany was sleeping, too. She could feel the way her chest moved rhythmically and her heart seemed steady and slow, but she didn't want to move and look up to check. The three of them were still and tangled together, and Quinn looked down at Santana's hand resting against her stomach and she thought about the way Brittany's arm curled against her back.

Quinn drifted off thinking that this might be the most perfect moment in her entire life, and she didn't have a clue why.

* * *

**A/N:** So, anybody like enough for me to keep going? Don't hesitate to let me know!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I really appreciate the response this got.. so I decided to go ahead with it.

It's got plot now, so.. expect angst.

The first seven chapters or so will be shorter and build up towards the bulk of the story.

This is the last chapter Quinn will be pregnant in, so if that isn't your thing, this is the end. I wouldn't have written this chapter with her pregnant if it didn't serve a purpose, because I know it's kind of weird to think of pregnant sex lol.

Also, not all of the chapters will be primarily focusing on Quinn's third person POV, there will be plenty from Brittany and Santana's too. I don't want anyone to get mad because I used the Santana/Brittany character tags and think I'm only going to write it with focus on Quinn.

And.. I want to be very clear: this is a story about the THREE of them being together, it's not a Brittana story, or Quinntana, or Quitt, even though there will be TONS of those pairings over the evolution of their relationship. So.. if you're in this for some epic Brittana, or even Quinntana, look elsewhere.

I hope everybody enjoys this, because I'm having too much fun writing it.

* * *

Quinn was having a shitty day.

She hadn't been able to fit into the last of her loose jeans today, and Puck's mom had started talking about letting her wear some of her clothes.

She looked like an oversized bag lady, because she was wearing a sundress that bunched up around her belly and was too short in the front. She needed to break down and buy clothes for pregnant women, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Somehow, that just made it feel too real. As it was, she felt like her body had been taken over by an alien invader and she would never get it back. Quinn resented herself, her baby, and the entire world on this day.

Not to mention the fact that she couldn't stop thinking about the encounter she had had with Brittany and Santana a few weeks before. Sometimes, when she lied in bed beside a snoring, stinking Puckerman and she couldn't sleep because her back ached and her hips hurt and her chest burned, she wondered if the experience had all been a dream. It had been so surreal and strangely perfect, and the fact that the other two girls had been so casual and cavalier about it only added to the sense that it was some kind of fantasy.

She wanted to do it again, and even though the desire should have scared her – or worried her, or alarmed her, or something – it didn't, and it was all she could think about. But Quinn didn't want to seem too.. eager. She didn't want to seem pathetic. Quinn saw the way that boys followed Brittany and Santana around, and she saw the way that the pair degraded and derided them. Quinn didn't want any part of _that._ It was too embarrassing, and even if she was pregnant, she still had _some_ dignity to maintain.. it occurred to her that it mattered what Santana and Brittany thought about her, even though she wasn't sure that had been entirely true before their little escapade. She decided to not approach them about it again, even though her hormones were going crazy and she felt restless every day.

All of her resolve on the matter of avoiding the subject whenever possible quickly dissolved, however, when she came across Brittany later that day, after school let out.

The sight made Quinn stop in her tracks and then quickly backpedal, even though she couldn't tear her eyes away. Eventually, shock made her abruptly turn around in the hallway and then go in the opposite direction, and before she even knew where she was going, she pushed open the swinging door that separated the Cheerios locker room from the rest of the school.

Quinn was immediately hit with the smell of chlorine, sanitizer, and the sweet, moist aroma of various body washes and shampoos. Quinn regretted entering the locker room the second that she did, because it reminded her of everything she had lost. It also reminded her that if Sue Sylvester found her in here, she would probably have a shit fit.

Still, she was already there. Might as well do what she came here to do.

Quinn wasn't even sure what that was, exactly.

She found Santana in front of the wall of mirrors, brushing out her hair and pressing her lips together to even out a coat of lipstick. Santana had changed out of her Cheerios uniform and into a snug green dress with knee-high black boots. She glanced up, a little bit startled, when Quinn appeared in the reflection behind her, but her face immediately flashed on a smile.

"Hey, Q. Long time no see. Did you miss the place that bad?"

Quinn repressed the urge to roll her eyes and then asked, "Are you and Brittany having a fight?"

Santana frowned, sat her hairbrush down, and began affixing bobby pins to her hair. "No. Why?"

Quinn narrowed her eyes and then looked away from Santana. "I just saw her making out with Macy Greenberg in the hallway.."

Santana grimaced, and then began applying mascara. "She could pick hotter people.. but really, Brittany's like, addicted to kissing."

Hearing Santana say that made a flood of heat flash through Quinn's body. She couldn't help the way she shuddered, slightly, at the memory of Brittany's mouth locked onto hers. It made her muscles tighten and her spine straighten.

She took in Santana again, appraising, and then narrowed her eyes. "And you're going on a date with somebody..?"

Santana smiled. "Yep. Adam Townsend, the varsity basketball captain."

Quinn crossed her arms and frowned.

Santana glanced at her in the reflection of the mirror and then a giant grin broke out on her face. "Aw, Quinn. Are you jealous?"

It made Quinn's face darken with color, and she turned her head away. "No."

Santana chuckled, replaced the mascara wand, and then used her fingertips to pinch away the clumps. "You are." She said it as a simple statement, and left no room for argument. She turned around to face Quinn after wiping off the excess mascara on a piece of toilet paper. "I never would have taken you for the type to enjoy the lady lovin', Quinn. I must say. It's a bit of a surprise."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Santana's direct gaze. She didn't like the way her body was warm from embarrassment or the fact that just having Santana look at her that way made something tighten and loosen inside of her all at once.

"It doesn't surprise me about you," Quinn said, trying to sound annoyed but failing.

Santana didn't take the bait. She just lifted an eyebrow and then slowly pushed away from the edge of the counter. Quinn watched her nervously as she took a few leisurely steps, and then she froze when she felt Santana's breath on the back of her neck.

"I can't stop thinking about it, you know," Santana breathed. Quinn shivered and her whole body clenched. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe out of her nose. "I keep imagining fucking you like that.. it gets me wet." Quinn's eyes slammed shut and she let out a desperate, airy gasp when she felt Santana's lips just slightly graze the area behind her ear. She didn't even have to check to know that her panties were soaked, and it was just from Santana whispering. Santana smiled, her breath whooshed out on a small laugh, and then Quinn felt Santana's hand drag a hot trail down her spine, fingers touching along the ridges. It made her shudder.

"Shit," Quinn said, and bit her lip.

"Oooh, you like it," Santana said, and Quinn closed her eyes against the wave of humiliation that crashed down on her. She hated being so obvious about it. She might as well be a boy with a boner.

"Any time you want it, blondie," Santana said with a smirk, stepping back around Quinn. She was smiling and it made Quinn feel a little less mortified, because Santana's face was kind, even if she was giving Quinn a hard time. "But we'll probably need to wait until you're done cooking that thing."  
Quinn frowned, puzzled. She subconsciously placed a palm flat against her belly, and looked at Santana. "Why? I sorta thought.. you know.. that you liked it."

Santana rolled her eyes but she was still smiling. "Sure, I think you're super sexy like that." She gave Quinn a full-body once over that made her blush. "I really dig your tits and ass. But I mean.." Santana trailed off and her expression changed, and something about it made Quinn's whole body feel paralyzed. "The way I want to fuck you.. it might break your kid or something." Santana's easy smile transformed into a smirk, because she knew she was completely in control of the situation and it delighted her, a little bit, to see Quinn Fabray so undone.

Quinn was blushing furiously now and she looked away from Santana. How did she do that? How could Santana make it feel like she was touching her, just by looking at her? Quinn had never felt anything like it before, and she realized her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. She cleared her throat, trying to distract herself. "Yeah, okay."

Santana tilted her head and threw one last smile at Quinn. "And don't sweat it too much about me and Britt doing our thing… we'll always make time for you. You're a fine piece of ass, Quinn Fabray." Santana said, and then she turned and walked away.

Quinn watched her go, the way she walked like she owned the earth and knew that nobody would ever challenge her for it. Quinn remembered what it was like to feel that way, how it was to be on top and feel invincible.

She didn't understand why, but her heart felt hollow and numb inside of her. Santana had only been honest; in fact, she had paid Quinn a compliment. Coming from someone like Santana, Quinn should be flattered.. especially if Santana still found her attractive, even like _this._

Quinn didn't want to admit it, not aloud and not even silently to herself, but she had wanted Santana to consider her more than just a piece of ass.

Quinn should have known better. That's all she was, or ever would be, to anyone.

* * *

The next Friday was hard for Quinn. The weeks were crawling by, inching in closer and closer to her due date, and she was fighting constantly with Puck and everyone else, it felt like. There were days – more and more frequently, now – that she felt so alone she wondered if anyone would miss her if she suddenly disappeared. But Quinn knew those thoughts were pointless.. all she had to do was look down, and she realized she wasn't alone. She was never, ever alone.

Thoughts about what to do with her baby, with Puck, and with her life were constantly on her mind. She wondered when, if ever, she would start to feel maternal about the thing growing inside of her. She didn't. In fact, she felt the opposite of loving and maternal – she felt obligated and annoyed and angry. More than once, she wished.. well, she wished a lot of things, and dwelling on them was futile. Quinn had made her choice, and now she had to live with it.

Quinn knew she was going to give the baby up for adoption. Puck could nag and rant and argue all he wanted, but Quinn had known from the moment her situation changed – when her baby's dad went from being Finn Hudson to Noah Puckerman – that this baby would find another home, and (she hoped) her life would eventually go back to normal, or as normal as it could be.

Puck didn't like that idea, and he was too much of an idiot to see things her way. Puck's mom was worse. Quinn felt hounded every single day into agreeing to keep the baby, to give it Puck's last name, to stay and live with them and let Puck pretend to be a father to it. Quinn could just imagine how that would go. Puck would come home on the weekends, so shitfaced he could hardly stand, while Quinn was stuck covered in piss and shit and vomit, and her whole life would eventually spiral into a never-ending cycle of resentment and rage.

Quinn had enough resentment and rage _now,_ before another person was in the picture; she couldn't imagine what would happen if she were the sole caregiver to a tiny human.

Quinn had read, somewhere, that stress was bad for the baby. Quinn wondered if all the stress in her body would result in her baby having a harelip or something. Her luck, it would come out with some kind of deformity and then no one would want it.

Still, despite the fact that her average, daily life was enough to drive most people to drink, Quinn considered herself a strong person. She made it to class every morning, regardless of the overwhelming nausea that crippled her even now, nearly into her eighth month of pregnancy. She continued making straight As, and she kept up with the glee club, learning how to dance and sing with the thirty extra pounds that clung between her ribs and hips and made her feel like a walking bus, and which made _every_ movement more complicated. She tried to remain optimistic about herself and the future of her body, even though now her nipples were a weird brown color and were three times larger than they had been pre-pregnancy, and she couldn't imagine anyone ever finding her sexy again. She wondered if her belly button would ever go back to being normal, or if it would stay smoothed out forever.

It took a lot to trip up Quinn Fabray. She prided herself on that. Knocked up at sixteen? No sweat. Homeless and disowned? Not a big deal. Deprived of bacon products for the last two months? Okay, kind of a problem, but working through it.

The point was, Quinn was kind of like an indomitable force, and even if she had crazy, hormone-fueled rages once in a while, she was still probably the most even-tempered and level-headed person she knew.

That's why it made absolutely no sense that something so petty sent her into a chaos of blinding tears, incapacitating her beyond normal functions other than sitting and sobbing.

Quinn Fabray does _not_ care about the plebein opinions of the mouth-breathers crawling the halls of McKinley, but all it took was one rude, off-the-cuff comment.. one sneer, one shitty little glare out of the corner of some nobody's self-righteous eye, and Quinn was stumbling through a haze of tears and searching for the first deserted classroom she could find. She barely made it into the empty chair before collapsed in a barrage of tears and choking gasps, her chest burning with all the shame and self-loathing that had been building for half a year, but that she'd never let herself fully indulge in.

Quinn stayed locked in that stuffy classroom for the rest of the day. She didn't know how long she cried, but her whole body felt wrung out and tortured by it. It had to be because she was retaining water or something, because Quinn seriously didn't think it was possible to cry for this long without dehydrating or passing out. Her head was cotton-y and her face was swollen, and every time she caught her breath, another freshet of tears would well up in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. It felt like, for a while, that the only thing that existed to Quinn was her own sadness, and it was huge enough to fill up the whole world.

Quinn startled when she heard the door push open, and she could only make out the blurry outline of Cheerios uniforms. It made her bury her hands in her face, unwilling to submit to the scrutiny of anyone she used to share space on the squad with.

"Quinn?" It was Brittany's voice.

"Britt-? Wha—" Santana stopped mid-sentence, and Quinn heard the door pushed open further. She heard the soft tapping noises of the pair of them stepping into the room, and the soft thud as the door fell against its frame.

The only sound in the room was Quinn sniffling and sobbing, and even though she hadn't been aware of it before the two of them entered, Quinn knew she was crying loudly. Her throat was hoarse and her lungs hurt from the strength of her crying. She felt shaky and weak, and still, she couldn't stop.

"Here, Q," Santana murmured, and Quinn felt Santana's soft, sure hands pulling at her hair, tugging it away from her face and then up in a sloppy ponytail. Quinn felt a rush of air against her hot, swollen cheeks and neck, and then Santana's hands began rubbing at her shoulders. They were soothing and strong, like Santana knew Quinn couldn't abide tentative or uncertain touches.

Then Quinn felt something against her face, and she peeked up to see Brittany wiping at the sopping puddle of tears with a paper towel. Quinn looked into Brittany's eyes and the unveiled kindness there made Quinn feel like her heart was splitting in half. She almost buried her face in her hands again, as her chest heaved and sobbed, but Brittany's fingers deftly caught her wrists and then, once Quinn had stopped struggling, Brittany continued to wipe at Quinn's face.

Quinn just watched Brittany, and gradually her tears dried up. She saw the way Brittany's eyes scanned over her face, and felt the gentle way Brittany pressed the paper towel against her cheeks and beneath her eyes, and underneath her nose. Santana's palms kept rubbing a persistent pressure against Quinn's shoulders, and then, before Quinn knew it, she wasn't crying anymore.

"God," Quinn said, even though it came out all stuffy and thick. "I'm a mess."

Brittany's face softened, though she didn't smile. Quinn felt a hot flare of embarrassment at being caught like this – a helpless, bawling mass – by the only two people that she still respected, and whose respect she craved. It made her feel weak and exposed. Just the thought of it was enough to make her cry again, but Brittany seemed to sense it – or maybe she just saw Quinn's face trembling again – and Brittany cupped Quinn's cheek with her palm, and it steadied her. Quinn sucked in a deep breath through her lips and then she let it out on a whoosh, and she tried to find that place inside of her that was untouchable.

Santana leaned down and pressed her cheek against Quinn's from behind, and Quinn felt everything inside of her unwind. It was almost like she found the calm within the storm, and even though it wasn't her own usual numbing place – it still gave her strength.

"Whose ass do I gotta kick?" Santana murmured, quietly against Quinn's face. The way she could feel Santana's jaw move and her lips tickle made Quinn smile, though blearily.

"Nobody. Crazy pregnant lady tears." Quinn offered with a shrug.

"Hmm." Santana straightened, her tone implying that she didn't quite believe Quinn. "Well, if it's Puck, then don't hesitate to let me know. He's been on my list for a while now. Just give me a reason."

Quinn's smile fully bloomed at that, and she let out a crackled laugh. Brittany was watching her with that open, inquiring face that made Quinn feel like Brittany saw and understood everything Quinn wasn't saying and was just waiting for Quinn to come clean about it. It should have made her uncomfortable, to have someone look at her with such scrutiny – but Brittany's face was warm and comforting, and she couldn't bring herself to draw up all her defenses just yet. She had been so broken just moments before, it would take her time to build her walls again.

"Let's get out of here," Santana said, and she felt Santana reach down and tug her hand. Quinn let herself be drawn up, and she noticed the way Brittany clutched her other hand, palm-to-palm, fingers cupping.

It made Quinn feel strange and wide open to have both of her hands clasped, because she couldn't shield her body with her arms. The three of them probably looked strange walking down the hallway, but now that school was out, there was only the occasional straggler to see. Quinn didn't protest when Santana led them to her car, but she did feel silly at the way Brittany opened the door for her and helped her settle down in the back seat.

Less than an hour later, Quinn found herself sitting in the middle of Santana's bed, and she was eating pizza off a styrofoam plate while Brittany took the old polish off her toenails.

Santana sat behind her, chewing on her own pieces of pizza. Neither of them had asked Quinn about the crying again, and she found herself desperately glad. She was puzzled and humiliated about her break down, and she wanted to completely forget about it.

Quinn hadn't been in this room since that night. It didn't look different. Santana still had clothes piled on the floor, she still had half-melted candles scattered on random surfaces, there were posters and lopsided pictures on the walls, and it smelled like a mixture of incense and Santana's perfume, and the acerbic smell of nail polish remover.

"Which color?" Brittany asked, holding up bottles in lime green and bright pink. Quinn blinked against the neon colors and her lips lifted in an amused smile.

Neither of them were colors she would ever pick for herself, but they were so flamboyantly Brittany, she couldn't help but find herself pleased at the choices. She tilted her head, deliberating, before she finally indicated the pink.

Brittany's face lit up in an excited grin and it made Quinn chuckle. She took the last bite of her olive-and-jalapeno pizza – Santana's favorite, and one that Quinn found particularly delicious now that she was pregnant – and watched Brittany carefully dab the tiny brush against the tip of the bottle before she clutched Quinn's big toe in her fingers. Quinn tried to stay still, because Brittany was concentrating so hard.

She turned her head and gave Santana a brief smile when Santana tugged the empty plate out of her hand. Santana stacked them on the dresser and she started unzipping her Cheerios top. Quinn watched her for a moment before she turned her face away, because she realized Santana intended to get all the way naked before she put on other clothes. She hoped nobody saw the way her eyes went wide, and she was pretty sure they didn't, but now her heart was pounding in her ribcage and she was sure that one of the two of them would hear it.

Santana came back to the bed and sat directly behind Quinn, scooting up until Quinn was nestled between Santana's thighs. Quinn swallowed and froze, feeling the blood rush to her head, and then she let out a puff of relieved air when she realized Santana just wanted to play with her hair.

It didn't stop her from noticing how incredibly _warm_ Santana's crotch was against her lower back, but Quinn tried to ignore it and focus on Brittany, who had moved on the second foot by now.

"You have, like, the perfect hair," Santana said. Quinn closed her eyes and tried not to lean her head into the way Santana was running her fingers from root to tip, dragging out the movement.

"I think you like hair too much," Quinn replied.

Brittany huffed out a little chuckle, and she glanced up and caught Quinn's eye. They shared a smile and Quinn knew that Brittany had accused Santana of the same thing.

"Mm. I like hair in the right places," Santana said, and Quinn laughed nervously. She didn't fully understand what Santana was implying, but by Santana's tone, Quinn knew it was something dirty.

"Really though." Santana said after a moment, still weaving her fingers up and down Quinn's hair. It was making the muscles in Quinn's upper back and shoulders relax, and it started a slow buzz along the nerves in her skin. "It's the best texture. Britt's is really fine, like baby's hair."

"It breaks easily," Brittany offered. She was waving her hands over Quinn's toes, trying to get the nail polish to dry.

"Your hair is pretty, Brittany," Quinn said. "And yours is always so perfect," She added, turning her head to glance at Santana.

Santana used her fingertip to push Quinn's head back straight, and then she began to braid Quinn's hair with quick, sure motions. "You have no idea how much work I have to go through to get it to look even halfway decent."

Brittany smirked again, and Quinn wanted to find out why she was biting back a laugh. She nudged Brittany with her foot and it made Britt glance up. The second they made eye contact, Brittany cracked, and her laughter filled the room.

"What?" Quinn asked, smiling.

"Santana's hair looks like Mufasa's."

"Hey." Santana said, frowning over Quinn's shoulder at Brittany.

Brittany's face immediately fell into a playful pout. "It's _cuuuute,_"

"Ugh." Santana made a face, and Quinn felt her move to another lock of hair, weaving it back and forth. "Don't call me cute. And it's not cute. Nothing about it is cute. It's a disaster."

Quinn chuckled. "Really? I don't believe you."

Santana shook her head. "You should see it when it rains.."

Brittany made a motion with her hands around her head, indicating a height of hair that Quinn did not think possible.

"It does sometimes resemble an afro," Santana said, with exaggerated pain in her voice.

Quinn laughed.

"Yeah, yeah. Stupid white bitch with her perfect white hair," Santana said, but she was smiling and it reflected in her tone.

Quinn shrugged, and the smile drifted off her face. "It's one of the only things about myself that I can control anymore, so.. I try to make sure it looks good."

"Quinn." Santana said, and her tone was suddenly serious. It made Quinn perk up a little, even though she couldn't see Santana. "You're seriously beautiful, okay?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, even though her cheeks colored. "Yeah right. I'm huge."

Brittany shifted and then tugged Quinn's feet into her lap, and Quinn watched her as she started applying pressure with her thumbs into the meat of her foot. Quinn's head tugged gently as Santana worked to undo the braids.

"Pregnant or not, you're still pretty," Brittany said.

Quinn shrugged. "I don't feel pretty anymore."

Santana sighed, and then she shifted and Quinn didn't realize that Santana could be closer, but all the sudden she was, and now Quinn felt every part of Santana snugged behind her, again, but in an acutely different way than the last time. Santana slowly wrapped her arms around Quinn and she gave her a gentle squeeze, and a moment later Santana's head was resting on Quinn's shoulder.

They both watched Brittany massage Quinn's feet, and then Brittany moved to Quinn's calves.

Quinn wondered if she should feel awkward right now, but she realized that she didn't. Brittany and Santana were paying more attention to her than anyone had in months, and it was refreshing, even if it made her feel a little bit foolish to have them fuss over her like this.

Quinn let her mind drift, and she realized that she was gradually relaxing into Santana, and now her body was leaning into the other girl's, while Brittany progressively worked up Quinn's legs. Quinn slanted Brittany the occasional glance as Brittany nudged between her legs, sliding the material of her dress further upwards, but she'd always get distracted thinking about other things to worry too much about it.

"Quinn," Brittany said suddenly. It made Quinn snap her gaze towards Brittany, who was staring at the juncture between her legs with a look of astonishment on her face. Quinn tensed, alarmed, and she was a moment away from closing her legs when she felt Santana's arms tighten around her. "Are you wet?" Brittany asked, a little bit incredulous.

"Uh.." Quinn gulped a swallow and shifted her face away from Brittany, her cheeks burning. She felt Santana's chest rise and fall on a little chuckle, and now Quinn was mortified. "It's not really that.. umm." Quinn sucked in a breath and tried to find her voice. "It's just something that happens…" Quinn looked around the room, desperately. "…because of the baby."

She felt Santana shake her head. "That's one raunchy baby, Q," Santana teased.

Quinn didn't think it was possible to be more humiliated.

"Why are you looking at my crotch anyway?" Quinn snapped, and she tried to close her legs and lean away from Santana. But Brittany didn't move and Santana didn't loosen her grip around Quinn's torso, and being pregnant meant she couldn't do much in the way of struggle.

Brittany smiled, scrunching her nose. "It was right there. I mean, anyone would have noticed."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Yeah well, now that we've all had amusement at my expense.. can I please go?"

Brittany's face dropped, and Quinn – even though she was drowning in shame – felt the slightest pang of guilt at being responsible for it. "Do you really want to?"

"Uhh.." Quinn wasn't sure now. She bit her lip and looked around, uncertain.

"You should just let her do it," Santana said, and Quinn could still hear the amusement in her voice. "She's been wanting to for years."

"Do _what?_" Quinn asked, and she couldn't help the way her voice got higher.

"Kiss you." Brittany said, and she smirked a deviant little smirk.

It made Quinn's insides twist and tighten, and her heart skipped a beat.

"Uhh…" Quinn repeated. She couldn't think straight. "I don't think so, Britt."

Brittany's face fell again.

"Aww, look at her," Santana said, her voice low. Quinn felt goosebumps leap out of her skin at the way Santana shifted until their faces were pressed together again, her lips moving a hair away from Quinn's shoulders.

"Brittany." Quinn said, after swallowing the butterflies that were bouncing around inside of her. "I'm pregnant.. like really pregnant. I don't know if it's appropriate.. or if it'll be comfortable.. or.."

"Those are lame excuses, Quinn," Santana said dismissively. "We don't care that you're pregnant. You're still sexy to us."

"You're still just as pretty to us," Brittany corrected with a stern look at Santana.

"I thought you said.. we'd need to wait," Quinn managed, her voice scratchy and squeaky. She was having the hardest time concentrating because Santana was doing this thing with her legs, where she kept tightening and releasing them against Quinn, and Quinn could feel the muscles bunching against her hips and back.

"I said _we'd_ need to wait," Santana clarified, even though it left Quinn a little confused. "The two of you don't need to. Britt's not rough like me."

"I can be," Brittany admitted, a line forming between her eyebrows.

"You won't be, though," Santana said, and Brittany nodded.

"Oh, God," Quinn huffed. She thought these little conversations between the two of them were clear indications that there was something entirely wrong with the whole setup. What kind of people talked like this before sex?

"What do you say, Q?" Santana asked, gently.

Quinn bit her lip and looked at Brittany uneasily.

Brittany's eyebrows wrinkled and she looked from between Quinn's legs, up to Quinn's face, and then back again. "I don't see what the big deal is.. you're like a beautiful snowflake, you know?"

Quinn did not know. She shook her head.

Brittany frowned deeper. "It's just that you're unique from anyone else, and even if you're bigger or smaller or an alien or a zombie, you're still _you,_ and it's _you_ that I want to kiss. I don't see what anything else has to do with it.." Brittany trailed off.

Santana let out a little laugh, her chest bobbing against Quinn's back. "You have to let her now. That was too adorable."

Quinn agreed, even though she still felt insanely self-conscious about it. "Turn the lights off," She whispered, and she swallowed the way her heart was beating a harsh staccato in her chest, and how nerves jangled and clanged along her palms, making her shift uncomfortably.

Brittany stood up and walked over to flip off the overhead light. It turned the room gloomy, but not entirely dark, because it was only evening and so faint light streamed in from outside. Quinn wanted to tell Brittany to close the curtains, too – but she felt vulnerable revealing how particularly insecure she was. She just watched with growing anxiety as Brittany stripped out of her Cheerios uniform, down to her bra and underwear.

"Do you want me to..?" Quinn gestured to the bed, to the pillows beside Santana and the empty space.

Santana shook her head, and Quinn felt Santana's hair against her cheek and neck. "No, we're staying like this."

Brittany crawled up the bed and Quinn closed her eyes, fighting back the apprehension she felt the closer Brittany got. Her heart was hammering and her blood was pounding in her veins, making her skin heat up and sweat break out in the creases of her body, like at the insides of her elbows and knees.

"Just relax." Santana said, gently, and then she began rubbing the flat of her palms up and down Quinn's arms. Quinn reluctantly let her head fall back until it was resting on Santana's shoulder, and she tried to even out her breathing.

Brittany slipped her fingers up Quinn's dress, and then she was drawing down Quinn's underwear. Quinn felt it stick to the insides of her thighs and she bit her lip, glad that the shadows hid the way her face was burning.

The bed shifted and they were more reclined, and it made Quinn's breath hitch in her throat because she was leaning even more heavily into Santana, and she was worried, because she knew that she was bulky and Santana was the smallest of the three of them. It made her uncomfortable to think she might be squashing her.

But Santana didn't struggle to breathe or move around, and eventually Quinn let her neck muscles relax and she tilted to hide her face in the crook of Santana's neck. Santana kept rubbing her palms lazily up and down Quinn's arms, and the motion was soothing.

Brittany knelt between Quinn's legs, and she was sliding her thumbs over the inside of Quinn's thighs. Quinn felt the bed shift and dip as Brittany wiggled onto her belly, and every muscle in Quinn's body tensed when she realized Brittany's head was now between her legs.

Quinn felt completely paralyzed as Brittany used one finger to stroke against her wetness, parting the lips. Quinn could feel Brittany's faint breaths and, despite herself and how utterly unattractive and painfully awkward she felt, her insides were tightening and she felt like her nerves were fraying on the edges.

"It's pretty," Brittany said. Quinn couldn't see her face, but she knew Santana was smiling down at Brittany. "Your kitty is pretty."

"Oh, my God," Quinn let out on a breath. Santana laughed behind her, and Quinn didn't really blame her. If it wasn't so personal, Quinn was sure that she'd laugh, too.

Quinn didn't have time to think of a response, other than the instant mortification she felt, because Brittany was dipping her head between Quinn's legs and then she felt Brittany's lips kiss against her.

Quinn didn't expect it to feel like it did. She hadn't known _what_ to expect, but it was a gentle and soft feeling, and yet it somehow made everything inside of her ignite into a crazy, maddening fire. Her throat clenched around a strangled sound and she pressed her face even harder into Santana, her fists closing around Santana's knees on either side of her. A whimper slipped out when she felt Brittany draw back and then kiss again, this time firmer, and still with just her lips. She lingered there, kissing the flesh that hid Quinn's clit, and the subtle pressure was delicious and gnawing.

Quinn was slightly startled when she felt Santana's hand wrap around her hair, gently drawing her face back, and then she was swallowed up in the sensation of kissing as Santana's mouth descended on and completely devoured her own. Quinn didn't have time to breathe – the air was frozen and strangled in her lungs – she didn't have time to think, she could only react. And Santana was kissing her the way she had before, with sharp nips of teeth against her lips, her tongue demanding and forceful, little vibrations that were like grunts or growls sounding deep in her throat. Quinn's face immediately felt hot and swollen, because within moments Santana had worked their level of kissing up from passionate to furious.

Santana's mouth caught the shocked, broken gasp when Brittany finally lapped her tongue against Quinn. Her whole body arched into Santana, and Santana's hand tightened in her hair. Quinn's chest panted with the effort to breathe, but Santana was relentless, drawing back for only a split second before she was kissing her again.

Brittany ran the flat of her tongue against the outside of Quinn's lower lips, before she slowly slid further in and her tongue immediately found Quinn's clit. Quinn moaned and finally turned away from Santana, because her head was spinning and she was dizzy and breathless, and she couldn't keep up anymore. Santana immediately pressed her lips against Quinn's neck, and she sucked with a wet, hungry mouth at Quinn's hammering pulse point.

"Oh, fuck, fuck," Quinn panted, squeezing her fists and pressing them against Santana's knees. Brittany's tongue was soothing and gentle, but she kept working it over Quinn's nub, and it made Quinn's entire lower half tighten and pound with her heartbeat. She felt so swollen and hot and wet, and Brittany's tongue was slippery and soft and it was probably one of the most amazing things she had ever experienced.

It contrasted brutally with the way Santana was attacking Quinn's neck, using the one hand gripping Quinn's head to lean and tilt it, giving Santana access to all the dips and hollows. She continuously sucked and nipped, and every time Santana's tongue found a new spot, Quinn bit back a whine and a whimper. She was rocking her hips, now, as best she could, because the pressure inside of her was building rapidly.

Quinn couldn't help the way she yelped when Santana suddenly licked the shell of her ear, the flash of heat followed by the feel of Santana's breath as she whispered, "You're so fucking hot,"

Quinn shuddered and rolled her hips, biting back a groan. Brittany was teasing her, pulling back the second she sensed Quinn was close to toppling, and she'd apply soft, gentle kisses against the inside of Quinn's thighs.

"Oh, God, Brittany," Quinn sobbed, after she had come _so close_ to tipping over the edge, and then Brittany pulled away, pecking against the outside of Quinn and along her legs. She shifted, writhing against the bed, pressing hard into Santana and the mattress.

"Stop teasing her, Britt," Santana whispered, before she pulled Quinn's face back towards hers for another kiss.

Abruptly, Quinn felt Brittany's mouth close over the entirety of her clit, and that sensation alone made her squeak and jolt, but then Brittany began to suck, and Quinn was shuddering and sobbing out incoherent, mindless things. Her body worked wildly against Brittany, and everything inside of her twisted and clenched until she was hanging, motionless, for a long instant. Brittany sucked harder and flicked her tongue over Quinn's clit and it sent her crashing, trembling and quivering, her legs shaking. Quinn hid her face against Santana again, her breaths exploding from between her lips and her arms clutching desperately for anything to hold onto. This time, as she slowly came down, it was Santana's arms that circled her and held her.

Brittany pulled back and kissed against Quinn's thighs gently, waiting for the tremors to quiet before she shifted fully away. Quinn's legs slid lifelessly against the bed, and she stirred when she felt Santana sliding beneath her.

She did it so deftly that Quinn wasn't sure entirely how it happened. One moment Santana was cradling her against her body, and the next, Quinn was lying flat on a pillow, and Santana was snaking over her towards Brittany.

She watched as, in a blur and a flash, Santana's pajamas were discarded. The two of them were kissing in a frenzy, and Quinn could almost taste the lust in the air. She was rapt, as always, watching Santana kiss Brittany, her hands running over every inch of Brittany's skin, while Brittany just clutched her hands in Santana's hair and held on, like Santana was a force of nature and Brittany had no choice but to go along with it.

They were both kneeling on the bed in their underwear, and Santana was sliding her hands along Brittany's ribs and hips, around her back, down to her ass, and back up again. Their kissing was making thick, moist noises in the silence of the room, and just watching them was making Quinn heat up again.

"Off. Take it off." Santana muttered against Brittany. She kept darting her hands up behind Brittany's back, trying to undo her bra clasp, but Brittany would shake her head and pull away until Santana became distracted with kissing again.

"Britt." Santana whined, and Quinn saw the way Santana's hands were groping more desperately. "I need to feel you."

Brittany slowly peeled herself away from Santana, and she gave her a heavy, lidded look. Santana was panting and her hair was a mess, and her lips were swollen and red.

"Lay down." Brittany said.

Santana bit her lip, and Quinn could tell she was struggling with indecision. Quinn had no idea what it was about, but she got the feeling that this was something the two of them had struggled over before.

"Brittany.." Santana whined again, but Brittany just shook her head and used her palms to gently push Santana down flat against the mattress.

Quinn laid on the bed and just watched, unable to look away, and feeling like she couldn't join because she hadn't been asked.

Santana watched as Brittany slowly unhooked her bra, keeping her eyes glued to Santana's face. Quinn heard Santana's breath hitch in her throat when Brittany slowly slid her panties down, and then she was naked. Santana moved to pull Brittany on top of her, but Brittany stayed out of reach, dodging Santana's seeking hands. Santana huffed in frustration and jerked her hips up when Brittany reached down to remove her own underwear.

Santana curled up and undid her own bra, tossing it on the floor. She flopped back down on the mattress, almost in defeat, spreading her arms out and giving Brittany a pointed, albeit annoyed, look.

Brittany flashed a triumphant grin at Santana, and then she slid on top of her, pressing their bodies flush together.

They kissed for many long minutes, and Quinn was starting to feel that uncomfortable, intruding feeling she got the last time this happened.. she felt excluded, and worse, like a pervert, because watching the pair of them kiss naked was more arousing than she ever thought possible.

Brittany's hand drifted down Santana's body, and their kiss broke when Santana groaned, because Brittany was drawing up one of Santana's thighs until her foot was resting flat against the bed.

"Oh, God, Britt," Santana groaned, rolling her hips. She clenched her eyes shut and lifted her arms to press her palms into the dip of her eyes, biting back another moan when she felt Brittany shift and adjust between her legs.

Quinn had no idea what was going on. She didn't have a good view of it, because it was dark, and Santana's raised leg blocked most of it. But she could see Brittany shifting, and then they both let out long, loud, breathy moans when Brittany rocked a deliberate and steady motion against Santana.

Quinn's heart went from sedated to racing in less than a second. Her eyes grew wide and she stared with a mixture of shock and disbelief as Brittany rocked again, making them both grunt. Then Brittany was picking up speed, rolling her hips into Santana until it was just a flurry of motion, and the pair of them were sobbing out desperate sounds, filling up the air with slick, wet noises.

Quinn squeezed her thighs together and tried to ignore the way her insides trembled, looking up from the area where their hips were pressed against each other and then to Brittany's face. Santana was still hiding behind her palms, and Quinn could see that she had her bottom lip trapped firmly between her teeth.

Quinn could sense Brittany's breathing change, and her own body tensed in anticipation.

Brittany lifted up and used her hand to tug Santana's arms away from her face. Santana's eyes were still clenched tightly shut, and Brittany slowed down her pace until Santana was whimpering and thrashing, pushing against Brittany and grinding desperately.

"Look at me," Brittany whispered. Santana turned her head, on the pillow, and Quinn could see her swallow. "Santana," Brittany said softly, using the palm of her hand to tilt Santana's head back upwards. "Look at me."

Slowly, Santana opened her eyes, and Quinn had no idea what Brittany saw there. She was too far away, and the angle wasn't right, but it made her heart twist and drop nonetheless. She huddled into herself and pressed the palm of her hand against her lips, to stop herself from making any noise, terrified that it might interrupt or disturb them.

With her eyes locked onto Santana's, Brittany sped up again, and Santana's breath hitched unevenly. Quinn could see Santana struggle against the urge to close her eyes, because her eyelids kept fluttering.

Santana could only withstand it for a few moments before she drew her arms up around Brittany and pulled Brittany down, flush against her, hugging her tightly and pressing her face into Brittany's shoulder. Quinn could see Santana's body shudder and tremble, and a second later Brittany let out a thin, whining cry, her hips writhing and thrusting haphazardly into Santana. Santana began thrashing, too, and her cries were muffled against Brittany's shoulder.

It looked like it took forever for them to stop moving. Quinn was squirming uncomfortably on the bed by the time they finally did, and she could still hear their loud breaths and see the way their ribs expanded and collapsed rhythmically against one another.

Santana couldn't stop trembling. Her arms were wrapped around Brittany in a vice-grip, and when Brittany tried to pull away, Santana made a small, high-pitched noise and burrowed harder against her.

Quinn knew that whatever Santana was feeling was overwhelming.. and she quickly rolled over, facing away from them.

Quinn wondered what it would be like, to love someone the way Santana loved Brittany, or to be loved by someone like that. Even if she had never heard them say it to each other, Quinn knew it was true. It made her heart hurt for peculiar, unnamed reasons.

Quinn heard Santana whisper, hoarsely, in Spanish, and Brittany hummed and the bed shifted and moved. Quinn wished she could see what they were doing. She imagined Brittany was kissing Santana's face, because she liked to do that. She wondered if Santana was crying.

It felt like ages, but it was probably only a few moments, before Quinn felt Brittany's weight settle behind her. "Come here, Quinn," Brittany said quietly.

Slowly, reluctantly, Quinn rolled over, and was surprised to see Santana next to her, instead of Brittany. Santana had her back to Quinn, with her face buried against Brittany's neck. Brittany faced Quinn and she reached out, tugging at Quinn until she scooted closer to Santana.

Quinn didn't get as close to Santana as Brittany would have liked, Quinn was sure, both because of her giant baby belly and because Santana was still trembling, and Quinn didn't know how to deal with that. Santana was always so strong.. so fierce and wild and angry. Quinn didn't know how to deal with a shivering, undone Santana, who clutched at Brittany and continued to murmur broken Spanish into the cusp of Brittany's neck.

Quinn slid tentatively until her lower body was pressed against Santana's, and Santana immediately lifted her legs so that Quinn's feet could entwine with hers. Gently, Quinn rested a hand against Santana's side, on her ribs, and she figured that was the best she could do. She glanced up, meeting Brittany's gaze, and even though Quinn had a swarm of conflicting emotions running through her, she couldn't help but smile back when Brittany smiled into her eyes.

Brittany lifted her hand and cupped Quinn's cheek, resting it there, before she drifted it upwards to smooth back Quinn's hair. It was a gentle, caring motion. Almost loving.

Quinn fell asleep this time trying to puzzle out what it meant, if anything, and why her mind couldn't get over the idea that her two best friends were in love with each other, and that possibly she was falling in love with them.

* * *

I do fun stuff on Tumblr sometimes, like post previews of the next chapters. So… you can follow me if you want. **missmandamargo **dot **tumblr** dot **com**.

Review? I'd appreciate it. :)


	3. Chapter 3

It was so hot it was hard to breathe. If it were up to Santana, she would never spend time outside when it was like this. Her lungs struggled with the thick heat of the air, and her skin everywhere was dusted with a fine sheen of moisture. Her hair.. she didn't even want to look at it. She kept it up on top of her head, occasionally shoving at the strands that refused to be tamed by bobby pins and hair ties.

Brittany, on the other hand, worshipped the sun. Santana was laid out by the pool, underneath the awning, watching Brittany float lazily from behind huge, dark sunglasses. It had only been a few weeks since school let out, but already Brittany's skin was golden and littered with freckles. Santana stayed away from direct sunlight, for fear of turning corduroy brown. Brittany could only coax her into swimming during the early evenings or after the sun had set.

Santana didn't mind, not really, even though some days she did bribe Brittany into staying indoors with promises of boxed candy and silly movies. Santana liked watching Brittany swim, almost as much as Brittany liked being watched.

Santana pretended to be reading something on her phone when Brittany slid out of the pool, the sun sparkling off of her wet shoulders and back. That way she could act indignant when Brittany sat on her lap, dripping chlorine, all over her cutoff jean shorts.

It played out perfectly. She made an annoyed face and swatted at Brittany, who only just grinned and then shifted positions so that she was lying entirely on top of Santana, her face level with Santana's boobs.

"You're getting me all wet," Santana said primly.

Brittany made a devilish face and said, "Wanky."

Santana gave a short laugh. "That's my line."

Brittany's skin was cold where it pressed against Santana's, which was sweltering, and it felt nice in a shocking kind of way. Santana peered down at Brittany, still from behind dark glasses, and smiled, using her fingers to wipe away the streaks of water that clung to Britt's cheeks and eyelashes like tears. Santana never could abide the sight of tears from Brittany – not even pretend ones.

"We have an audience.." Brittany murmured, her gaze falling behind Santana.

Annoyed, Santana turned in her lawn chair to glare over her shoulder. "Hey! Quit perving on us, you little freaks!"

There were some muffled giggles and the sounds of a pair of bare feet thumping away.

"They're cute," Brittany said, smiling at the way Santana's eyebrows were furrowed and how the corners of her lips tugged downwards.

Santana huffed, settling back into her chair. "They're thirteen. No boys, at thirteen, are cute."

"I think Martin has a crush on me." Brittany said, and Santana laughed, running her fingers through Brittany's damp hair.

"Who wouldn't?" Santana asked.

Brittany smiled at the easy compliment. "Jorge has one on you."

Santana made a face. "He's a little _cabrón_."

"It's normal to have a crush on your best friend's sister," Brittany said, slyly.

Santana frowned at her and tugged on her earlobe with her thumb and forefinger.

Brittany laughed, and pressed her face into Santana's shoulder, wiping away the remaining droplets on Santana's dark, warm skin. Lying on top of Santana was sometimes like lying on top of a rock that's been baked by the sun all day, and even when Santana complained, Brittany knew she loved it.

Santana layered her arms loosely over Brittany's shoulders and the small of her back, holding her in a way that seemed casual and natural. There was no pressure or force behind the hug, and the pair of them stayed like that for a while, tuning into each other's rhythm of breathing and enjoying the silence.

"What day is it today, Britt?" Santana asked.

"Sunday," Brittany said, sluggishly, which meant that the physical exertion of swimming all day combined with the action of lying flat on top of Santana was making her drowsy.

Santana just laughed and shook her head. "Every day is Sunday to you."

Brittany murmured something and turned her head, so that her face was tucked into Santana's neck, and Santana could feel her faint breaths.

Trying not to dislodge or bother Britt, Santana angled the face of her phone up, to check the actual date.

"It's Friday," Santana said, matter-of-factly.

"Why does it matter?" Brittany asked, her words still thick. "Every day is Sunday in the summer."

Santana didn't bother answering Brittany's question. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she was thinking, which – for some reason – made Brittany rouse, shifting so that she could peer upwards at Santana. Brittany saw the look on Santana's face, which she recognized, even hidden behind sunglasses.

"How many weeks since school let out?" Santana asked, even though it sounded more like she was just wondering aloud.

"Umm.."Brittany had no idea. She shook her head and then settled back against Santana, nuzzling deeper into her neck.

"I think it's been more than six weeks," Santana muttered.

"Why?"Brittany asked. She didn't pay attention to time. Days blurred together into one long stretch of sun and swimming, punctuated by occasional movies at the mall or random thunderstorms or days when Brittany could coax Santana into going to a park or to the drive-in. It was just the two of them, and Brittany didn't want to dwell on how, as every day ended, it led closer to a time when they couldn't always be just this close, or carefree.

"Puck wants us to come to a party tonight," Santana offered, by way of explanation.

"So?"Brittany perked up again, trying to meet Santana's eyes behind her glasses. "Do you actually want to go to this one?"

Santana shrugged, rubbing her thumb over the screen of her phone. It wasn't the first party Puck had had during the summer, nor the first invitation Santana had gotten.

"Why does how many weeks since school let out, have anything to do with Puck's party?" Brittany asked. She was slowly waking up, and she shifted away so that she was sitting on Santana's lap, now, her legs dangling on either side of the lawn chair. It gave Santana a view of Brittany's bare body, prevented from being entirely naked by the red string bikini that clung to every curve.

Santana shrugged again, and looked away, pressing her lips together.

To Brittany, every move Santana made was like a spoken word, or sentence, or paragraph. Brittany didn't even understand it herself, how she could derive meaning and language out of Santana's body – she just did. It probably had a lot to do with the fact that Santana was close-mouthed about most things, but especially about things that were important to Brittany.

"This is about Quinn." Brittany stated.

It made Santana turn to level a look at Brittany.

"Six weeks?" Brittany asked, her eyebrows rising. "Is that long enough?"

Santana stared at Brittany for a tense moment, debating whether or not to reveal how frighteningly accurate Brittany's little leaps of intuition were. Finally, she inclined her head in a brief nod, and glanced away from Brittany's triumphant smile.

"How do you even know she'll be at Puck's party?" Brittany asked. She reached back and pulled her hair into a ponytail, using the rubber band she had around her wrist.

"I don't, I guess." Santana mused, watching Brittany with a small, deviant smirk on her face. The deeper into the summer it became, the less guarded Santana was about things like that. Brittany didn't bring Santana's attention to it –because most likely Santana would stop. But Brittany noticed the way Santana looked at her, sometimes, when no one else was around. Like now. Like Brittany was the sexiest thing on the planet. Other times, she looked at Brittany like Santana thought she was more beautiful than the aurora borealis. Which is pretty dang beautiful.

It was always kind of awesome, because Brittany loved that side of Santana, the side that no one else ever got to see. But it was also slightly painful, because Brittany knew that as soon as school started again, things would change between them.

She didn't want to think about that right now, so she just smiled back at Santana, with a look that said_, I know what you're thinking_, and she gave Santana a pointed wink.

It made Santana's smirk grow wider, and her hands moved to rest easily against the jut of Brittany's hips. Her fingers began a little dance over the thin nylon strings that tied the bikini low on her waist.

Brittany let out a little laugh, and she lowered her hands to cusp Santana's wrists with her fingers. "Why don't you make sure she'll be there?" Brittany asked, amused.

Santana's eyes wandered back up to Brittany's face and it made her smile, even though Santana knew she couldn't just come out and _ask_Quinn to show up to Puck's party. Santana was more subtle than that.

Plus, Santana liked to think that she believed in fate. Certain things were just meant to be, and no mere mortal could interfere with that.

"If she's there, she's there," Santana said with a shrug.

Brittany rubbed her thumbs over the insides of Santana's wrists, feeling the veins and tiny tendons beneath the skin.

Santana watched Brittany's face, and she knew Brittany wanted to talk about something. She lifted an eyebrow and cocked her head, giving her permission to ask whatever it was she was thinking about.

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Brittany asked. She kept her eyes trained on Santana's, somewhere behind the lenses of her sunglasses.

"What?"Santana asked.

"The Quinn thing.." Brittany murmured.

Santana shifted, and she made to pull her hands away from Brittany, but Brittany's fingers tightened, holding her in place. "No. It doesn't."

Brittany tilted her head, listening to the tone of Santana's words, as if she could detect hurt or betrayal there.

"I know you've had the hugest crush on her since freshman year," Santana said with a shrug.

"She's really pretty," Brittany offered.

Santana smiled and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I think we've established that.. since you wouldn't stop talking about it for like, nine months straight."

"You aren't jealous?" Brittany seemed genuinely curious about that.

Santana shook her head. "No. Why would I be?"

Brittany stayed silent, watching Santana's face.

That imploring expression of Brittany's always made Santana slightly nervous, so she turned her head to look over at her yard. "Are you jealous?"

Brittany didn't need time to think of a response, she only smiled, and it made Santana want to smile back, reflexively. It was only with extreme self-control that she kept her face stoic.

"Of course not." Brittany said, and her voice was playful. She leaned in, and still trapping Santana's hands, now had her arms pinned between their bodies. She began nipping at Santana's collarbones around her words. "It's sexy. You're sexy, she's sexy, I'm sexy.. the whole thing is really sexy."

Santana laughed, tilting her head away from Brittany. "You're an animal, Brittany Pierce."

"Mmmhm,"Brittany nuzzled into Santana's neck and mocked a purr, which shouldn't have been as arousing as it was – but it made Santana's skin tingle and goosebumps pop up along her neck and shoulder.

"It's indecent," Santana said around a breathy laugh. "Really, it's no way for a young lady to behave."

Brittany opened her mouth and bit down on Santana's neck, and Santana grunted, rolling her hips underneath Brittany's weight.

"Damn,"Santana swore, and then she shifted. "Don't leave a mark, Britt."

Brittany growled and started sucking, pressing her face harder into Santana, and Santana was reduced to a few muted whimpers and stretched-out, broken gasps.

Brittany leaned up and flashed Santana a smug smile, before she scooted forward and pressed a quick kiss to Santana's lips. It made Santana look at her with surprise, and then she darted a few glances around the make sure they were still alone.

Brittany rolled her eyes and lifted herself up, still marveling over the way Santana didn't bat an eyelash about Brittany snuggling on top of her for the better part of the afternoon, but a peck to the lips made her nervous and edgy. She stood up and looked down at Santana, noting the way her neck was red and swollen in one spot, but that most likely no hickey would occur. It was petty, but Brittany wished she had left a giant bruise there when she'd had the chance.

Santana could sense Brittany's irritation, and she felt immediately bad about it. She bit her bottom lip and then leaned forward, using her hand to tug on Brittany's. Brittany looked down at her, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"Britt.."Santana started, not entirely sure what she was going to say, or how. She couldn't apologize for something that was second nature to her. She couldn't apologize for the fear and anxiety, because she didn't fully understand or acknowledge them herself, yet.

"Let's just go get ready for the party," Brittany said, shaking Santana off. She walked towards the patio door that led into Santana's kitchen, and she didn't wait before she opened the door and slid inside.

Santana watched her go, and sighed.

* * *

"Pretty."Santana said, once Brittany had showered and changed into a pair of faded cutoffs with a plain white baby t-shirt. The stark, simple color made a startling contrast against Brittany's golden skin, and she was examining herself in the mirror above Santana's vanity, trying to decide how to do her hair, when Santana paid her the compliment.

Brittany didn't roll her eyes, but she wanted to. Santana was trying to sweet talk her into not being irritated anymore. It usually worked, because Brittany couldn't stay mad at anyone for long, and particularly not Santana.

"Are we getting drunk tonight?" Brittany asked, choosing to ignore Santana's attempt at peacemaking.

Santana sighed and walked up behind Brittany, leaning up on her tip-toes to press her cheek against Brittany's. Britt paused to make eye contact in the mirror with Santana, and eventually her face softened on a small smile.

"If you want to," Santana said, and pressed a kiss against Brittany's cheek before she stepped away and then into her closet.

Santana thumbed through her collection of small, skimpy dresses, trying to decide if she should wear red or black, when Brittany walked into the closet, too. She slipped past Santana and tugged down a black skirt and a white and black striped tank top. Without saying anything, she handed the items to Santana and then walked back into the bedroom.

Santana followed, lifting an eyebrow at Brittany's choice of clothing. "Why are you dressing me, Britt?"

Brittany shrugged, leaning over to apply eyeliner and mascara. "If you pick, you'll take forever. And you'll pick something way too dressy."

Santana scowled, rubbing the material of the skirt between her thumb and forefinger."Why does that matter?"

Brittany just smirked. "Do you want me to ruin another one of your dresses?"

Santana's eyes widened and then she shook her head. "No. You have absolutely no respect for designers."

Brittany laughed, but didn't comment. Santana watched her apply makeup for a moment longer before she gave in and put on the clothes Brittany had handed her.

"If we drink, are we staying at Puck's?" Brittany asked, once Santana had brushed her hair out. She watched as Santana squirted some clear, thick liquid from a bottle into her hands, rubbed them together, and then slicked it down over her hair. Brittany had no idea what it was, or the purpose of it, other than that it made Santana smell like some kind of fruity perfection, and her naturally curly hair got a little bit curlier. Brittany always had to resist the urge to reach out and run her hands through Santana's hair when it was down. Santana got grumpy about that, especially if it wasn't "ready" or "done" yet.

Santana continued threading her fingers through her hair, debating. Then she shrugged."I don't know. If we stay at Puck's, he'll probably try to have sex with us."

Brittany nodded, pressing her lips together. "Do you want to?"

Santana paused, and then looked at Brittany out of the corner of her eye. "Do _you_ want to?"

Brittany thought about saying _I asked you first_but decided against it. "Not really."

She watched the way Santana's face relaxed minimally and how it seemed like she let out a breath she was holding. Brittany knew Santana didn't think she saw it, but Santana wasn't as unobvious as she thought she was.

The truth is, Brittany doesn't mind the idea of having sex with Puck. It's usually a fun time. But she knows Santana doesn't like the idea of Brittany having sex with him. Santana obviously doesn't have a problem doing it herself – because they had been hooking up for years. It's taken Brittany a long, long time to realize the difference between Santana not wanting Brittany to have sex with Puck, and Santana not wanting Puck to have sex with Brittany.

The idea confuses her a little bit, even to this day, but as the months progress she's beginning to think she understands.

* * *

Puck's house is not the best place to have a party with a lot of people. Brittany always likes it better when Mike hosts. But her favorite parties are the ones Santana has at her house, during weekends her parents spend in Venice or Cancun, and her little brother Martin gets shipped off to Santana's Abuelo. Then the pair of them could drink and dance with their friends, and not have to worry about how they were getting home, or how late they stayed out, or about sneaking in without waking anyone up.

Brittany understands the inevitability of all those issues arising later tonight, but she decides not to care much about it. She wants to have fun. It's been too many weeks since she's seen these people, and even though Santana still acts like she hates them – Brittany knows Santana misses the glee kids, too.

Puck only invited a handful of people initially, but these things do have a tendency to grow. By the time Brittany and Santana make an appearance, the house is full to bursting with football players, cheerleaders, and the random misfits that stand out like a sore thumb to Santana, but who only appear to be more like blinking Christmas lights to Brittany. Just as pretty as the regular kind, but more interesting.

Mercedes is the first to spot them, and she stumbles over with her big smile and a hand clasped around a red plastic cup. Brittany loves Mercedes. She thinks Santana probably does, too, though she fixes Mercedes with a narrow look and a barely-repressed sneer.

Mercedes giggles and hangs an arm around Brittany's neck, laughing out a hello and offering to give Brittany some of her drink.

"No thank you," Brittany smiles and delicately pushes the proffered cup away.

Mercedes likes to laugh a lot when she's drunk.

Brittany didn't miss the way Puck watched Mercedes weave from one corner of his small, cramped living room to another.

She wonders if she's missed anything important while staying locked behind Santana's 6 foot privacy fencing for the last month and a half.

Santana is impatient, and even though it's not a fully formed thought in Brittany's brain, she sort of – a little bit – thinks she knows why.

Brittany has gotten used to a certain rhythm with Santana when it comes to parties, especially ones involving people Santana considers important or popular. They arrive together and they leave together, but generally the middle spaces are spent apart. Santana can't wait to disappear into the crowd and find some cute, hot boy she has yet to conquer. Santana thrives on being seen with this one or that one, and she enjoys the attention it brings her.

Brittany used to play a little game, back when things were still new between them and Brittany didn't fully understand Santana (she still doesn't, but she thinks she might be getting better at it). Brittany used to watch Santana dance on or kiss a boy, and when it got to be too much – when Brittany could feel her heart squeezing and aching more than she thought possible – then Brittany would find someone, anyone, and mimic Santana. As long as Santana wasn't very drunk, and as long as it was where Santana could see, Brittany could count on Santana prying herself away from whatever random boy she was with to drag Brittany into a back bedroom or out to her car.

Brittany played this game for a long time, until she began to understand that it caused Santana a lot of pain. Brittany learned the difference between Santana's fierce, possessive kisses and her gentle, loving ones. She knew that both kinds were sweet and both made her heart do slow flips in her chest, but that the former came from Santana's desperate fear. Brittany didn't want Santana to be afraid, so she stopped playing the game.

It wasn't as if Brittany entirely avoided hooking up at parties the two of them went to. She was just careful, and more aware of Santana – she never deliberately did it in order to cause Santana jealousy again. Brittany knew that no matter what, Santana would be jealous. She couldn't help that. But she could make sure she didn't do anything overt to cause Santana any pain.

At this party, though, Santana doesn't immediately fade into the crowd. Instead, she stays beside Brittany, while Brittany talks to a sloppy, laughing Mercedes and a slightly less inebriated Tina. Brittany can sense, from the way Santana crosses her arms and shifts her weight back and forth on the balls of her feet, that Santana wants to move deeper into the house.

"Do you want a beer?" Santana asks turning to face Brittany for the first time since they'd arrived. She had spent her time peering out into the living room, watching as people shuffled between it, the kitchen, and the dining room. It was obvious to Brittany that Santana was looking for someone.

Brittany only shrugs and catches Santana's eye with a soft smile, which seems to throw her off. Brittany never gets tired of doing that, because – for a split second– Santana loses her tempo, and the uncertain, shy expression on her face has always been one of Brittany's favorites.

"Let's go," Santana says, and grabs Brittany's hand, forcing her away from the other two girls. They're busy trying to sing a garbled version of _What a Girl Wants_ into their drink cups, anyway.

The kitchen is loaded with people, more people than Brittany thought possible to fit into such a tiny space. Santana has to drop her hand in order to squeeze and press by the bodies, and Brittany feels her ass grabbed at least twice as she twists her body to slide between people. Santana already has her face buried in the fridge by the time Brittany catches up, and she smiles at the sight of her bent over in the tight black skirt.

It was definitely a good decision on Brittany's part.

"Here. You like this kind, right?" Santana hands Brittany a bottle of beer, and Brittany doesn't bother reading the label before she pops the cap off and takes a drink of it. She's pretty indiscriminate about alcohol.

Santana makes a face at the easy way Brittany drinks the beer and only shakes her head. Brittany notices that Santana is holding another bottle in her hands, and it isn't for her. Santana doesn't drink beer – she only shoots tequila, or sips mixed drinks involving whiskey or rum. Brittany doesn't have to dwell on who the second bottle is for, because Santana is pulling her through the throng again, out of the kitchen and into the tiny den that's situated off of it.

It's a bit quieter in here, and it's a room Brittany is a little unfamiliar with. She notices first that the television is on, and that two boys are sitting on the floor with game controllers in their laps. The soft, furious tapping of keys being pressed repeatedly is only slightly audible over the thrumming music being pumped out of Puck's room, down the hall.

Santana is more observant than Brittany, though. She zeroes in on the figure sitting on a red, faded couch, facing the TV, watching the violent war game being played out.

Brittany only has to glimpse the tangle of blonde hair to know that Santana's found her target.

Santana heads the long way around the couch, and Brittany goes in the opposite direction. Both of them end up sitting on either side of Quinn, who startles at their sudden appearance and then nearly drops the cup she had been cradling in her lap.

Brittany's already sitting so close to Quinn she's practically in her lap, their thighs pressing together. She immediately lifts an arm to drape across Quinn's shoulders, using her fingers to play with Quinn's hair.

"Here, Q." Santana offers the unopened beer to Quinn, before she casually crosses her legs and feigns interest in what's being played on the TV.

Brittany notices the way that Quinn is stiff underneath her arm, and how she only grudgingly takes the bottle from Santana. Quinn's looking in Santana's direction, though, so Brittany doesn't have a chance to gauge her face for her emotions. Slowly, Brittany draws her arm away from Quinn, and then she shifts so that the small of her back is resting between the arm of the couch and the back. Brittany picks up on Quinn's mood before Santana does, so it's less of a shock to her when Quinn starts yelling.

"What have you been doing all summer?" Santana asks, still not facing Quinn.

"I didn't call you for a reason, Santana," Quinn snaps the words out with so much anger that it seems to literally jolt Santana. Brittany watches as Santana's head whips around to take in Quinn's face, and whatever she sees there makes her eyebrows draw up and together.

_Not good_, Brittany thinks. _Really not good._

"Okay. And that would be?" Santana asks, her own tone biting and defensive.

Brittany hates it when the two of them get like this. It makes her stomach twist and knot, and all the hairs on her body stand up – like a ruffled, disgruntled cat. She feels the tension between them like an uncomfortable itch between her shoulder blades, and it makes her anxious. Brittany hates it when Quinn and Santana fight, she hates it when they say things they don't mean. Brittany knows that words have a mind of their own sometimes, but she also knows that once something has been said, you can never unsay it. She knows Quinn and Santana have said a lot of things to each other that they both regret.

She believes that tonight, more of those regrettable words are going to be said.

"Well, I don't know," Quinn says with exaggerated sweetness in her tone. "Because I didn't feel like being your little sex toy?"

The shock on Santana's face is instant and all-encompassing. It even threw Brittany back, and even though Quinn wasn't directing the words at her, Brittany still feels them like a physical blow.

"What the hell are you _talking_ about?"Santana is incredulous and disbelieving. Brittany can see Santana's brown eyes dart back and forth between Quinn's, and her mouth is slightly agape.

Quinn just scoffs out a derisive laugh, and turns back to face the television screen. Brittany can see the side of Quinn's face now, and the way her mouth is curled in a bitter smile. "You think I didn't pick up on it, last time? The way the two of you _used_ me to get each other off?"

Santana and Brittany both stare at Quinn like she's lost her mind, and their reactions to her words are vastly different.

Santana immediately gets angry. Brittany can tell by the way her face hardens and how her cheeks turn pink.

Brittany isn't angry, though. She's got that uncertain, anxious twisting in the pit of her stomach that always happens when people misunderstand her, or when she feels like she's done something stupid, or made a huge mistake. It's a panicky, dreadful feeling and it makes her shift uneasily on the couch. She wants to say something but she already knows Santana and Quinn would drown her out.

"You're insane." Santana spits, and it makes Quinn turn back to her with a jerky, enraged motion. "No, worse, you're drunk," Santana said, and after a moment Brittany realizes it's true.

Santana slowly rises from her position on the couch, and then she leans down directly in front of Quinn. It forces Quinn to shift backwards into the couch cushion and Santana's curly, pretty hair brushes over her shoulders and hangs down around their faces.

Brittany sort of thinks Santana is going to kiss Quinn, but Santana is just leaning in to speak quietly and dangerously into Quinn's eyes:

"You need to lose whatever stick is up your ass," Santana mutters, and it makes Quinn's face recoil in a look that, to Brittany, seems a mixture of anger and shame. "You know Brittany and I never used you for anything. Whoever you're mad at, take it out on them, not us."

Santana straightens and she gives Quinn a look out from underneath her eyelashes. "You've got your shit, Fabray. I get that. But you need to understand who your friends are." Santana crosses her arms and glances towards Brittany.

Brittany knows that she needs to stand up and walk away with Santana, but she feels paralyzed. The things the two of them had said weren't as awful as Brittany was anticipating, but they were still cruel. And Brittany knows Quinn has misunderstood something. Brittany is better than Santana – and most people – at understanding how anger can be an expression of hurt, so Brittany isn't afraid of Quinn's anger. She's only concerned about how she might have hurt Quinn, and what she can do to fix it.

But Santana just keeps looking at her, expectantly, and Quinn is now staring into her lap, picking her thumbs over the rim repeatedly, refusing to look up at either of them. So Brittany stands up, since she can tell that the longer she sits there, the more awkward it gets.

Brittany's still thinking about Quinn and what she said when they move into the dining room, where Puck, Finn and Mike are playing a drinking game involving cards. Brittany wonders where Mercedes went and if Puck was really watching her.

"She's gone crazy," Santana says, shaking her head. She hasn't had anything to drink yet, and Brittany had thought that maybe she wasn't going to, but she picks up Finn's cup and takes a long gulp of it.

"Finn, what is this?" Santana gives him a hard look and puts the cup back down."Water?"

Finn looks at her with that gassy, slightly bewildered look he always has. Santana makes small noise in the back of her throat before she reaches for Puck's, and takes a swallow.

"Ugh,"Santana grimaces, but she takes another drink and then puts the cup back down.

"Hey, hands off," Puck says, but he doesn't make an effort to protect his drink. "Get your own."

Santana ignores him and sits herself down at the fourth, unoccupied chair at the table.

Brittany edges in behind her, sipping on her beer.

"You want in? We're playing school bus," Puck asks, directly across from her. Mike and Finn are facing each other over the scarred square of wood, and Brittany realizes that Mike might be the drunkest she's ever seen him. It makes her want to laugh, because drunk people are usually hilarious and awesome. But then she remembers Quinn, and all the laughter in her dies.

"No."Santana leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. She looks completely disinterested in the game the three of them are playing, and she doesn't even have anything to keep herself distracted with. Brittany gets nervous and edgy just looking at her. She doesn't understand how Santana can just sit there and keep all her emotions in, when it's clear that she's upset, angry, and confused. Brittany wants to rub Santana's back and help dissipate the tension, but she knows Santana doesn't want that right now.

Brittany doesn't like standing still for very long, especially when there's music and movement and a whole _party_ going on in the living room and kitchen. The boys are placid and subdued, slapping cards down on the table and then taking gulps out of their cups. Brittany never understood drinking games, and she doesn't know why anyone would rather sit in here than be out with everyone else.

Eventually, Brittany has enough of it, and she decides to wander away from Santana. Something about it feels not right, but she can't think of anything better to do.

She finds Tina in the living room, dancing crazily with a crowd of Cheerios and girls on the swim team and in the art club. Brittany likes dancing, and especially dancing with people like Tina - because Tina is her friend, and she feels like dancing with her has no other pretenses, like it does with some people. Tina doesn't expect things from Brittany, except for Brittany to be herself.. which is refreshing and liberating.

Brittany is a little shocked when Tina twirls in front of her, and then instead of simply dancing next to each other, they're dancing with one another. It takes a few more moments before Tina is slowly winding her arms around Brittany's neck, and simultaneously pulling Brittany lower as she crept up on her tip-toes. Brittany takes the time to inhale one startled breath, and then Tina's mouth is soft and warm against hers, and Brittany stops thinking for a few good moments.

It takes her less than an hour before she hears the sharp voice of Santana screaming at someone.

Brittany figures she must have super-sensitive-Santana-ears or something, because nobody else even blinks at the commotion coming from several rooms away. Brittany untangles herself from Tina, who is a better dancer (and kisser) than Brittany has ever really realized, and begins the precarious trip from the middle of the living room towards the back of the house.

She peeks in at the boys in the dining room who are now roaring with laughter. Finn and Puck slap Mike on his back as he chugs a beer, and a dozen or so football players are surrounding them, cheering him on.

"Get the _fuck_ away from her!"

Brittany swallows because Santana sounds pissed and on the edge of violence. Brittany's familiar with that tone, and it makes her walk quickly out of the dining room and into the den.

It's a lot to take in at once, but Brittany tries. She sees Santana shoving away a kid, some boy Brittany is only vaguely familiar with, her body directly in front of his and shielding Quinn. Quinn is limp on the couch, her head lolled back against the cushion, and even though the boy is standing with his hands up, palms out, and shaking his head profusely, Brittany can tell Santana is only a second away from kicking him in the balls or punching him in the face.

"Santana!" Brittany says it urgently, and then she darts into the room. Santana turns to throw Brittany a dark look, but it's enough time for the boy to get away.

Brittany holds Santana's gaze for a moment before Santana eventually relents and softens, bobbing her head to look down at Quinn. Brittany slides into the seat next to Quinn and she's surprised when Quinn opens her eyes and looks at her.

"You drank too much," Brittany whispers, using her hand to push Quinn's hair away from her face. Quinn only blinks at her, before she finally nods.

"Real smart decision there, Quinn," Santana's voice is still mean and biting, and she is glaring down at Quinn, even though Quinn is looking at Brittany and patently ignoring her. "Getting knocked up once while drunk wasn't enough?"

"Santana!" Brittany gasps, willing her to take it back. It was too late, though, because Quinn's eyes close as the words absorb into her, and Brittany can see the way the muscles underneath her skin contort with pain.

"No!" Santana is mad, and it's obvious. She looks at Brittany and she aims her anger there. "I'm not going to spend the rest of my life handling Quinn with kid gloves! She fucked up once before. She needs to make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Screw you, Santana," Quinn's voice is thick and heavy, and the way her chin trembles makes Brittany want to press her entire body against Quinn's, cradling her. She doesn't because Quinn looks too fragile to hold.

"Santana's just scared," Brittany whispers, almost too quietly for Quinn to hear. But Brittany knows she does, because Quinn slowly opens her eyes again, and even though they're glassy, she's looking directly at Brittany and it seems like she's trying to understand.

"Scared of what?" Quinn's words were bitter.

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here," Santana sneers.

"She's scared for you. She doesn't want anything bad to happen to you." Brittany explains it, a little louder this time since it's obvious Santana can hear her anyway. She refuses to look at Santana, because she knows Santana will be giving her a death glare. Brittany doesn't often dwell on how hard she has it, being this person with the ability to translate what Santana says into what she actually means, but right now she's both glad she has it and a little sad about it, too.

Quinn doesn't seem to register Brittany's words immediately, but when they sink in, she lets out a long breath that, Brittany is almost certain, was holding back tears. She shuffles and shifts until she's wedged up against Brittany, her head resting on Brittany's shoulder. Brittany reaches out and tugs Quinn closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Finally, she looks up at Santana, who is glaring, but not as viciously as Brittany originally thought she would.

"Let's get out of here," Santana says with a sigh. She isn't happy, but she isn't as angry as she had been. It probably has something to do with watching Brittany hold Quinn. Even though Santana has never said it out loud, Brittany knows - and she thinks maybe Quinn does, too - that she and Quinn are Santana's favorite people. They're her _only_ people, truthfully, and as distant and furious Santana can be in turns, Brittany knows Santana would do anything for them.

Brittany helps Quinn stand, and the other girl doesn't protest when Santana and Brittany tuck her into the back seat of Santana's car. Brittany wonders, briefly, if Santana is really okay to drive, but then she just _is_ and she doesn't spend time worrying about it anymore.

They make it back to Santana's house safely, which might be some kind of miracle considering nobody but Santana knows how much she drank.

Quinn is the drunkest, though, and both of them have to help her into Santana's house and up her stairs. There's a lot of thudding and muted giggles that creep out in the process, but eventually they make it. By now, Brittany's head is spinning and her vision is blurry, and she thinks maybe the alcohol she drank finally caught up with her.

Santana only shakes her head with a smirk because Brittany and Quinn crumple together on the edge of Santana's bed, propping each other up. She reaches for Brittany's shirt first, and she tugs it up over Brittany's head. Brittany giggles and slaps at Santana's hands when they pry at the snap of Brittany's jean shorts, and it makes Santana laugh.

"Calm down, you perve. I'm just getting you some pajamas."

Brittany stays still long enough for Santana to wiggle the shorts down, and then she's moving to Quinn and undressing her, too.

Quinn is limp and yielding for Santana, who for her part doesn't stare too long. Brittany knows she wants to, because she's curious about Quinn's body post-baby.

The three of them end up in their bras and panties, and then Santana passes out baggy t-shirts all around. Quinn grunts and struggles with the arm holes, and Brittany laughs hysterically when the head hole gets caught up in her hair.

Santana laughs, too, as she guides Quinn's arms and pulls Brittany's shirt. Then they're crawling into Santana's bed, and Brittany is both glad and a little bit disappointed when Santana makes a point of sliding in between the two of them.

Brittany's glad, because the way Santana curls into Quinn and snugs an arm over her waist, means she's done being mad. But Brittany's disappointed because she slightly wishes it was her in the middle.

It's all right, though, because the room is swimming dizzily in the darkness and she can push a leg between each of Santana's, and she loves the way Santana's hair smells against her face and the way Quinn takes her hand, which is draped over Santana's torso, and twines their fingers together.

* * *

At first, Santana forgets about Quinn being in bed with her. It's a silly thing, really, because she fell asleep with both her arms holding Quinn close, and Quinn's smell filling her nose - something like roses and vodka - but it had been months since Santana had shared her bed with anyone other than Brittany, so her first instinct was to smile into the lips that pressed hungrily against hers.

Then, with a shock, Santana realizes that Brittany's still pressed up behind her, spooning her, and it's Quinn leaning over to kiss her in the blackness. Her heart jackknifes in her chest and she can't help the way her stomach clutches and twists with instant heat.

Santana can taste the bitterness of sleep and the mustiness of alcohol on Quinn, and it still arouses her. She reaches up and fists her hands in Quinn's hair, pulling her face closer, and pushing her tongue inside of Quinn's mouth.

Quinn jerks her face away and then, with Santana gasping and tugging at Quinn's hair, she slowly lowers her face until it's a whisper away from Santana's. It makes Santana jolt and jerk against the mattress when Quinn slowly rubs her tongue along Santana's bottom lip.

"Shit," Santana whispers, feeling stickiness creep between her legs. "You're drunk, Quinn."

"Not anymore," Quinn growls, and it makes Santana's pulse throb in her veins.

Santana submits to it for a while, allowing Quinn to push her until she's lying flat on the bed. She's overwhelmed and a little mystified by Quinn's kisses, so abruptly different than the ones they'd shared before. It turns Santana on more than she's willing to admit, and given, she's a little blindsided since she was sleeping only a few minutes before.

"Oh, god, Fabray," Santana groans as Quinn breaks away to press scorching, biting kisses against her throat and her pulse.

Santana allows the storm to build up inside of her, until she's panting and moving against Quinn, pulling her head this way and that with a fist in her hair, and her hips jutting up insistently against Quinn.

Santana smirks when, with one sudden, swift movement, she flips their positions and now Quinn's back is to the bed and her startled, dark eyes stare up at Santana. She's breathing hard and one hand - which was previously sliding up Santana's shirt - was now clutching at her ribs.

Santana wastes no time nudging Quinn's t-shirt over her head, and then Quinn's loud, shocked moans break out over Brittany's soft breathing sounds because Santana is closing her mouth around one of Quinn's nipples and using her hand to squeeze the other one.

Suddenly, things intensify between them. Santana can feel Quinn bucking underneath her, and she can feel Quinn's stomach muscles bunch and jump against her own, and it sends warmth and heat jolting through her entire body, flooding her system. Santana's pulse is hammering throughout her entire body when she lifts up to press another bruising kiss against Quinn's lips, and at the same time, slips her arm between their bodies.

"Oh, fuck," Santana can't believe how wet Quinn is.

She's even more shocked by the feeling of Quinn's fingers digging beneath the elastic of her underwear, and then she's lost in the overwhelming and heady feeling of sinking her fingers knuckle-deep inside of Quinn, followed swiftly by Quinn dipping inside of her.

Santana jolts when Brittany rolls in the bed, and she looks into Brittany's sleepy blue eyes guiltily at the way Brittany is examining them. She knows Brittany doesn't mind this thing between her and Quinn - at least, she said that - but it still feels weird to get caught.

"Britt," Santana breathes, gritting her teeth against the way Quinn strokes inside of her, causing her hips to rock subconsciously.

Brittany shifts, kneeling on the bed, and Quinn and Santana both pause to watch her. But she's only pulling her shirt over her head and then crawling closer to the two of them, sidling up to mimic Santana's position over Quinn, only directly beside her.

And then she's dragging Quinn's free hand towards her, and pushing it under the material of her underwear. Quinn's eyes go wide and Brittany's breath hitches in her chest, and then Brittany is leaning down to suck on Quinn's lips.

Santana groans at the sight and slams herself down onto Quinn, twisting her fingers deep inside and pumping furiously. It starts a chain reaction - Quinn's body moves and undulates with the rhythm, and her own fingers on both hands push and pull in sync.

The air is filled with the wet, slick noises of hands moving and flesh slapping, of moans and grunts and lips kissing and legs sliding against one another.

In the end, Santana has her forehead pressed into Brittany's shoulder and Brittany has her mouth on Quinn's neck when they come, all of them cresting and swaying at nearly the same time, and it's Santana who's crying out the loudest, grinding and writhing down viciously onto Quinn. It probably has something to do with the sight of Quinn's face, wrinkled up, and the feeling of Brittany's body next to hers, hips and elbows rubbing together and her body swelling and hitching in time with hers.

Santana knows that Quinn's coming, too, because her fingers are immobilized inside of her and once Brittany has collapsed next to Quinn, hiding her face in the crook of Quinn's neck, Santana is still hovering above Quinn and looks down. Quinn draws her hand away and just gasps. She waits until Quinn's breathing evens out and her eyelids are fluttering before she starts rocking her hips, using her thumb to brush over Quinn's clit.

Santana revels in the way Quinn throws her head back, one of her hands coming up to clutch at her own pillow, her bottom lip caught tightly between her teeth. Santana gets the chance to watch Quinn fall again, and this time is even better than the first, because her body shakes and vibrates and her noises are desperate and sobbing.

Santana slowly, slowly draws her hand out from between them, and then she deliberately draws one and then the other over her fingers into her mouth. Quinn's eyes flash open at the sound of Santana sucking on her own fingers, and it makes Santana's lips curl in a smile. She grins at Quinn, and then she shifts her body up to press a deep, lingering kiss on Quinn's lips.

Santana settles down on top of Quinn, filing away the differences between the Quinn full body pillow and the Brittany full body pillow. Brittany is longer and sleeker, and Santana can more easily feel her bones through her skin. Quinn is softer, and she shifts a little uneasily beneath Santana, as if she didn't expect Santana to lie down.

Santana smiles at Brittany, whose head is resting on Quinn's shoulder, and their faces are mere inches apart. Brittany smiles back, a sleepy, sated smile, and Santana pushes forward to pepper Brittany's face with light, soft butterfly kisses. It makes Brittany's face spread in a huge grin, and she snorts, scooting closer to Santana to rub her nose against Santana's cheek and drag her lips along Santana's jaw line.

Quinn, beneath the two of them, smiles lazily, and both of her hands come up to tangle in two sets of hair, one thick and curly, the other shiny and soft. She doesn't mind that they're giggling and battling kisses on her chests, because instead of feeling excluded or intrusive, Quinn feels immersed in them.

She struggles to breathe, but not from their combined weight. Quinn is fighting the way her heart swells with every heartbeat, expanding to make room for Santana and Brittany. It stings and aches, cracks and twists, but moreover, it's sweet and beautiful. It scares her more than she cares to admit.


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn never goes home after that night, not really.

It's fine by Santana, because (and maybe she never wanted to admit it to herself before) she's always wanted to spend more time with Quinn.

She passes her days beneath an awning, watching Quinn and Brittany from behind dark glasses and a smug smile, as they swim together, laughing, and do their very best to get her to join them. They're both wicked and they know her weaknesses – and Santana doesn't let herself dwell on the fact that watching her two best friends kiss while covered in water always, _always_ breaks down her resolve to stay out of direct sunlight.

The summer sun bakes Santana to a nut-brown shade, which she was trying to avoid, but it only makes Brittany and Quinn turn into twins of gold and vanilla with platinum-streaked hair. Brittany freckles, Quinn doesn't. Brittany's hair gradually lightens from the combination of chlorine and sunlight until it is nearly white in places, which makes her eyes seem like they glow. Quinn's hair lifts from honey to goldenrod and her shoulders peel and crack, because no matter how many days on end she spends floating in the water, pink still manages to creep along the top layer of her skin.

Santana is the sort of person who doesn't spend a lot of time thinking about things, particularly not hard things like feelings. Santana prefers to live in the moment – and at the moment, she's enjoying their company. It's easy to ignore the way she feels about Brittany, because it's a feeling that has been gnawing and growing inside of her since she was small, and Santana is adept at pushing it aside. But Quinn snuck up on her, like a whirlwind, and it throws Santana off her game a little bit when she allows herself a moment of stillness.

Especially when, on nights that Brittany's mother insists she go home and spend time with her family, it's just the two of them. Those are quiet nights, because Brittany facilitates conversation between the three of them, and Santana and Quinn are naturally quiet without her. But the silence is easy, and it fits, and Santana knows that it shouldn't. Those nights Santana spends hours braiding Quinn's hair, running her fingers through it over and over again. Quinn smiles into her eyes and doesn't say anything about it, but just the fact that she smiles and that there is an _it_ to not mention makes Santana uneasy. She distracts herself with experimenting with ribbons, watching how different colors blend and weave in Quinn's hair, which (she never admits out loud again) she honestly can't get enough of playing with.

Other nights, Santana rests with her head pillowed on Quinn's stomach, watching television or listening to the radio, while Quinn reads.

Santana has never had much of an interest in reading. She would always rather just wait for the movie to come out – and if there isn't a movie made, then it isn't a very good book, is it? But Quinn changes her mind, because sometimes she breaks the silence between them with laughter, bursting out spontaneously with a sound that Santana has come to crave, and which fills Santana's chest with warmth. She always finds herself smirking and cocking her head to peer up at Quinn, who, oblivious, continues to grin into the pages.

And sometimes, Quinn even cries, and that's even more intriguing to Santana. Santana is not an easy crier, and she avoids public displays of emotions (beyond bad assery), but watching Quinn leak tears while staring at an open book touches Santana in a quiet, peculiar way.

One such night, when Brittany leaves them go to home to her mother's shrimp scampi, Santana surprises Quinn by reaching up to run a finger down the back of Quinn's hand.

Quinn, used to the way that Santana gets her attention with touches, instead of words, peeks her head over the lip of the book to look at Santana, questioningly.

"Will you read to me, Q?" Santana asks, her face perfectly straight and solemn.

Quinn's eyebrows fly upwards suddenly, but Santana's gaze remains steady and Quinn realizes Santana is being serious.

"This?" Quinn indicates the book with a little flick of her wrist. "You want me to read this to you?"

Santana nods, her head resting on the soft incline of Quinn's stomach.

"Just.. start anywhere? In the middle of the book?" Quinn thinks it's a strange request, but Santana's looking at her with a face that means she's being genuine.

Shrugging, Quinn begins reading where she left off, "'_Here's my question: What age are you when you're in heaven? I mean, if it's heaven, you should be at your beauty-queen best, and I doubt that all the people who die of old age are wandering around toothless and bald..'_"

Santana listens, lulled by the sound of Quinn's voice, and the funny thing that happens is that Santana realizes that books are entertaining, and books are moving. It's not just Quinn who makes them so, with her easy rhythm and her tireless patience, even though it certainly helps Santana come to this conclusion. Santana finds herself laughing along with Quinn, and sometimes she feels tears prick the corners of her eyes, too.

* * *

It's not that Quinn moves in entirely. She does leave on Saturday nights to go to church the next day with her mom and sister, but midday Sunday always brings her back. She disappears for a time on Wednesday nights, too, and that gives Santana time alone with Brittany.

Unlike Quinn, Brittany doesn't often leave things unmentioned. She's learned, over the course of being Santana's friend, that certain things are off-topic, but Brittany is good at finding a roundabout way to bring them up.

"Are your parents glad Quinn is here with us so much?" Brittany asks Santana, on one of those Saturdays that they're alone.

Santana glances over at Brittany, perhaps sensing the double meaning in Brittany's words, but a scan of Brittany's face reveals nothing. So Santana shrugs, and goes back to folding her laundry and putting it away.

"They don't mind. I think they wonder some about her, because she just had a baby, but they don't ask questions."

Brittany smiles, watching Santana adjust shirts on hangers and tuck jeans and shorts into a dresser. There are many of her own clothes mixed in with Santana's, and some of Quinn's, too, and Santana is impartial, putting all the clothes away together.

"I think I might have some competition with Martin for which of us he likes more," Brittany says.

Santana lets out a short laugh. "How can he pick? It's too much _tetas y culos_ for the average teenage boy to handle."

Brittany hums, amused. "Between me and Ashley, how did _you_ pick?"

Santana scowls and tosses a stuffed dog at her. Brittany laughs, catching the toy easily.

"For the last time, I never had a crush on Ashley."

Brittany rolls her eyes because she knows Santana is fibbing, but she lets it go, because it's an argument they've been having for the last two years and Santana will never relent.

"Do you ever miss having alone time?" Brittany is genuinely curious about this.

Santana pauses to think about it, but then gives a shrug. "No. I like having you guys here. It's made this summer interesting."

"By interesting, you mean you get laid all the time," Brittany says with a smirk.

Santana grins, ignoring the pointed way Brittany is looking at her. She's trying to dig out some kind of information, and it makes Santana uneasy. "What can I say? I'm constantly surrounded by beautiful women."

Brittany wonders, really, how Santana can say things so easily like that – but still deny the obvious.

"How do you think Quinn feels about it?"

Santana, being intentionally evasive, asks, "About what?"

Brittany cocks her head and just looks at Santana.

Rolling her eyes, Santana shrugs. "How should I know? Like we do, I guess."

Brittany hums again but it's a small sound, and the fact that she doesn't ask another question makes Santana nervous.

"How do you feel about Quinn?" Santana doesn't know how Brittany did this, pushed her into this corner where she feels agitated and pressured into asking these silly, insane questions but—

"I love her." Brittany answers with an easy shrug.

Santana freezes, and then slowly looks at Brittany, sitting on her knees in the middle of her bed.

"I love you too, you know," Brittany says, and it makes Santana's heart start beating again.

"Yeah." Santana feels weak and jittery for a reason she's not entirely sure of. Santana doesn't dwell on it, but she's sure Brittany didn't mean _love_ the way Santana interpreted it.

Brittany does, but she doesn't know how to make Santana realize that.

"Let's watch Youth in Revolt," Santana says after the last pair of jeans has been put away.

"Mm, Michael Cera," Brittany says with a wink.

Santana makes a face but walks over to put the DVD inside the player anyway.

* * *

The summer passes like that, a kaleidoscope of long, gentle days and short, hot nights. Quinn has never experienced anything more magical, and because of this, she's scared to question it, or even talk about it really. She doesn't let herself wonder over the way she catches Santana looking at her sometimes – like she has the secret to happiness locked away inside her dark eyes, and something about it shines through whenever Quinn isn't paying attention. She won't stop to think much about Brittany, who tells her nonsense fairy tales to pass the hottest part of the day, or who likes to fingerpaint on skin, and who, despite her apparent naiveté, might be the wisest person Quinn has ever known.

Quinn doesn't let the thought surface consciously, but she knows there is some kind of game being played. It's a slow and wistful dance, and she's not entirely sure when she went from being an impartial observer to being a willing participant, but she knows that she is, now.

Quinn prefers to let certain observations sink into her skin and settle somewhere in her soul, rather than spend time picking them apart and analyzing them for further meaning. She wants to soak up every second she has with these two, the people who have changed her mind about the idea of love, while she still can. Quinn has made the decision not to dwell on negative things, at least for the last short weeks she has, but that doesn't mean she's completely blind to the possibility of them. She feels like, as with most things in her life, this brief bracket of happiness will some time end, and she'd rather walk away from it with a heart full of wonderful memories.

So Quinn has spent the summer allowing Brittany and Santana to lead, a role she isn't familiar with. She finds it a bit refreshing, even if it's more obvious now than ever that Brittany is definitely the more dominant of the two. Quinn smirks at Santana sometimes, overcome with the realization of just how much bluff and bluster she actually is, especially in regards to the blonde – and Quinn finds her role as Brittany's co-conspirator amusing and enthralling, if slightly insane.

Quinn finds Brittany's particular brand of insanity more palatable than most.

She helps convince Santana to abandon her perch in the shade on most days, wading close to Brittany in the middle of the pool. Even though kissing Brittany has become common and normal, she still feels that flash of heat twist in her gut and her lungs strangle in her chest the second they draw within a whisper of each other. It has to do with Brittany's slanted, feline eyes and her quick, knowing grin – and the way Quinn anticipates having Brittany's mouth on hers.

It never takes long before a splash sounds out and then they're shrieking and darting away from each other, because Santana is kicking furiously beneath the water. More times than not, it's Quinn she catches – Brittany is lightning quick and agile in the water, faster than both of them, with the better reach. Then Quinn is laughing and splashing, trying hard to stay afloat while Santana wrestles her up against the edge of the pool. By then, Quinn's heart is racing and her face is flushed, and she barely has time to catch her breath before Santana's lips are devouring hers and restless, impatient hands are dipping beneath the fabric of her bikini.

It literally steals Quinn's breath away, to know that she has that effect on Santana. The two of them say the least to each other, but Quinn can't help but feel that Santana is communicating more with her frantic hands than with her words. If only Quinn knew how to decipher what exactly Santana is saying.

Brittany is not as urgent with her kisses, or as fierce with her hands, but the way Brittany touches Quinn is more frightening and tangible than the unsaid things between her and Santana. Because Brittany looks at Quinn with tenderness, and she's slow and thoughtful in her lovemaking. Sometimes it's too much for Santana, and Quinn has seen her fold into herself and tremble on more than one occasion. Brittany isn't afraid to say the words _I love you_ while Quinn is gasping, and sometimes – sometimes – Quinn lets herself believe it means what she wants it to mean, and she understands why Santana can't speak.

If Quinn were letting herself analyze – which she isn't – she would say Brittany is playing Quinn and Santana perfectly. Quinn won't let herself believe this, though, so she pushes the thought aside.

It's Brittany who initiates all the spontaneous and crazy things they do that summer, too, which isn't all that surprising. What's surprising is the way Quinn enjoys it, and how she can tell Santana does, too, even if she does her best to seem like she doesn't.

"I want to see a movie tonight," Brittany says, while the three of them air-dry on a layer of towels spread over hot cement. And even though Santana had mentioned wanting to stay in and do pedicures, Quinn knows they'll be seeing a movie instead.

"Let's go to the drive-in," Quinn surprises herself by saying, but she's glad she did, because she's rewarded with Brittany's huge grin. It always ignites something soft and fluttery in Quinn, like a knocking in her ribs. Instead of confronting it, she just smiles back at Brittany.

"All right," Santana demurs, sluggishly, from behind her sunglasses. Quinn can just barely see her over Brittany's splayed body. "But I'm bringing the tequila."

That little adventure ended with the three of them teetering drunkenly down a quiet Lima suburb, singing '90s pop music at the top of their lungs. Quinn's memory is a bit hazy, but she knows she helped Brittany climb to the roof of some random person's house. Brittany tried to pull Quinn up after her, but Quinn was too short – and uncoordinated – to do much else but jump and laugh.

"You guys!" Santana hissed, weaving. "I'm too pretty to go to jail. Seriously. You're both stupid."

It took more worrying on Santana's part and a lot of laughing and falling down on Quinn's part before Brittany finally relented and slid down off the roof.

"Last time ever drinking in public with you two," Santana moaned the next day, clutching her head.

"It was your idea," Quinn had no trouble reminding her.

"I want pancakes," was all Brittany had to offer.

It's also Brittany's idea to drag them along to a little medieval fair that sets itself up on the outskirts of Lima for a long weekend, and even though it's silly, Quinn enjoys the men walking around in suits of armor and the women with their long gowns and pretty hats.

"I want to see a fairy," Brittany remarks, after encountering the third tavern wench in a row.

"Britt, this is a medieval reenactment, not some gamer boy's Lord of the Rings fantasy," Santana says around a bite of smoked turkey leg.

Quinn finds the sight perplexing and amusing, because Santana's face is stained with grease and her hair is tied back, and she looks like she's enjoying herself.

"Uh huh," Brittany says, noncommittally, watching two men swordfight in a grassy clearing.

"You know the difference between a medieval fair and a role-play, right?" Santana asks.

Brittany levels an unblinking stare at her.

Even Quinn looks, slightly baffled.

Santana shrugs, raising her eyebrows. "I had to make sure you weren't dragging me along to some complete loserfest," Santana raises a finger to itch her nose. "I did some research."

Quinn smirks and Santana scowls, and Brittany ignores them both, grabbing them by the hands to lead them towards a life-size chess game, where the pieces are actual people moving along a board painted in the grass.

At the end of it, Quinn has a sunburn – again – Santana has a stomach ache, and Brittany is upset about not seeing any elves or dragons.

"Elves and dragons aren't real, Britt," Santana groans, clutching her belly in the backseat of Quinn's car.

Quinn glances at her in the rearview mirror to make sure she isn't going to puke all over the upholstery.

"Not anymore," Brittany huffs, crossing her arms in the passenger seat. Quinn gives her a sidelong look and notes the way her face is stoic. "But they were _back then_,"

"No, Britt.."

Quinn just rolls her eyes, not understanding why Santana even continues to argue with Brittany.

Back in Santana's room, Quinn spends the rest of the night with Santana's head nestled in her lap, while Brittany spreads aloe vera over her neck and shoulders. Even Brittany is quiet, which is strange, and the three of them listen to CDs and think their separate thoughts until Brittany falls asleep against the pillows. Santana shifts lazily out of Quinn's lap, and the then they're both climbing beneath the blankets and snugging close to one another.

Quinn has never thought she would be able to sleep so soundly in bed with another person, much less two, but she finds herself more comfortable and rested with Santana and Brittany on either side of her than she's ever been before. The nights she goes home to sleep in her own bed, she tosses and turns and misses the heavy weight of arms and legs piling against her.

It's always her favorite when she wakes up before either one of them, and especially if it's her night in the middle. They don't really talk about it, exactly – but Quinn is the least pushy about being in the middle, afraid to demand too much attention or affection. It's amusing to watch Santana and Brittany battle it out, though, with silent grunts and well-aimed shoves; Quinn laughs and dodges elbows and knees. Usually Brittany wins, and she's triumphant, lying in the center of the bed with both of her arms spread wide. Santana, grumbling, crawls up beside her, and Quinn rests her head on Brittany's shoulder. It's disconcerting sometimes to be so close to Santana, while listening to the rhythm of Brittany's breaths and heartbeats, and it's those quiet moments that Quinn tries to avoid scrutinizing the most. Something in the way Santana watches her, in the dark. Something in the way Brittany seems to hum with happiness, stroking her hand through Quinn's hair. Something about the whole thing makes Quinn's heart tremble and quake, and her throat swell tight.

Sometimes, though, especially if they've spent hours rocking and moaning against one another, Quinn is lucky enough to lie between them, and she feels like she's drowning in an emotion she can't or won't name. They lay on top of her and lace their hands together, and Quinn wishes she could pause everything to capture this, just this, forever.

And on those rare mornings, Quinn always finds Santana curled into her, a hand resting on her stomach and her fingers clutching tightly at the material of her shirt – as if she were afraid Quinn would disappear in the night. Brittany, a restless sleeper, always kicks the blankets away from them and ends up with her head level to Quinn's, mouth parted slightly, forehead wrinkled with dreams.

Usually Santana wakes first, all cute sleepy grumpiness and whining and childish pouting at the sunlight and having to be awake, grousing about the time and if Quinn dares to wake Brittany Santana will kick her ass, because Brittany is like a _damn_ energizer bunny first thing in the morning and Santana _is not in the mood._ Quinn finds this adorable and ludicrous, because she knows Santana loves Brittany first thing in the morning.

One morning, though, Brittany surprises Quinn by waking up before Santana. She hears Brittany shift and the sudden change of breath, and she looks away from Santana's face, where she had been staring – right into Brittany's bright, piercing blue eyes.

Quinn smiles, and lifts a hand to brush the thin golden threads away from Brittany's cheek. "Good morning."

Brittany only blinks, and all the clouds clear away. She's instantly awake, a phenomenon Quinn has yet to understand. "Morning."

Quinn gestures to the still-sleeping Santana, her head nestled on Quinn's chest and her hand clutching tightly in Quinn's t-shirt. "Look who decided to sleep in."

Brittany looks down at Santana and she smiles, one of those soft, doey-eyed smiles that makes Quinn's heart hurt just to look at it.

"I love watching her sleep," Brittany confesses, looking up to meet Quinn's gaze. Quinn nods and smiles, tucking away the pang in her chest.

"Me too. She looks a lot less angry."

Brittany hums, and reaches down a finger to run over the bridge of Santana's nose. It makes her face wrinkle up and she buries her head harder against Quinn.

"Ouch," Quinn muses, using her fingers to pull the dark curtain of Santana's hair away from her neck.

"Have I ever told you about how Santana has a crush on my sister, Ashley?" Brittany asks suddenly.

Quinn's eyebrows raise and she shakes her head. "Nope."

Brittany laughs, a quiet laugh, and she rolls onto her back to stare at the ceiling. "It's how I first noticed Santana.. you know," Brittany murmurs, throwing Quinn a pointed look.

Although she doesn't entirely, Quinn nods as if she gets it.

"I saw the way she looked at her." Brittany's voice is distant, as if she's remembering. "We were just little kids. Santana already had boobs, but not me. I was all bony and sharp."

Quinn smiles at the image of a gangly Brittany, all elbows and knees.

"Ashley is three years older than me. We thought she was pretty much the coolest person on the planet."

Quinn, who has only met Ashley on a few occasions, doesn't comment.

"She used to sneak us out of my bedroom at night and into our treehouse with her boyfriends." Brittany pillows her head with her arm, and she turns to look away from Quinn. "She'd always get us to play spin the bottle with them and stuff. I never really wanted to.. I was only like eleven, and kissing boys wasn't interesting yet."

Quinn, who originally thought this story was going to be quirky and amusing, is starting to get a peculiar clutching in her stomach. She glances down worriedly at Santana, who isn't moving, and then back at Brittany. All she can see is the wild spill of Brittany's hair.

"One time, Santana got Ashley," Brittany's voice is strangely even and monotone, which Quinn has come to associate with Brittany feeling uncomfortable. "They kissed. Ashley laughed about it afterwards, and the boys all went wild about it, but Santana.. she was _burning_."

Quinn didn't have time to think of anything to say, or even to fully interpret what Brittany meant by that.

"She never admitted it. She still doesn't. But I could tell."

Quinn wonders why Brittany is telling her this, and especially why she's being so strange about it, but just then Santana groans and nuzzles her face against Quinn, jolting both of them.

"You are _not_ telling that story," Santana's voice is husky and scratchy, and her eyes are sealed tight. When Quinn glances over at Brittany, she's turned her face back towards them, and she's looking at Santana with a calm, solemn face.

"It's true." Brittany isn't accusing. She states it as a fact.

"Please." Santana cracks an eye open to glare at Brittany. "Why don't you tell Quinn about how you almost creamed yourself the first time you saw her?"

"Say _what?_" Quinn sputters, half-laughing and unsure. Her eyes go wide and she looks between Santana and Brittany.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Brittany blush before, but she certainly is now. She's tucking her lips into her mouth and ducking her head with a shy smile, and even Santana is grinning, her eyes crinkling up in amusement.

"Oh, _now_ you've got nothing to say," Santana says, taunting. She shifts and yawns, and then rubs her face against Quinn to clear away the sleepies. It's a little painful and uncomfortable, but Quinn bares it, repressing a chuckle.

"C'mon, Britt, tell her," Santana won't let it go, and now Brittany's cheeks are bright red and she's clutching the blanket to her face and staring at Santana.

"Really, what?" Quinn prods gently, looking down at Brittany in wonderment.

Santana rolls her eyes. "She was like a lovesick puppy over you our whole freshman year."

Quinn lets out a startled laugh. "No way."

Brittany won't look at Quinn.

"Yes, way." Santana finally rolls over onto her back and she arches her spine, stretching her arms out above her head. "Everywhere we went – Quinn this, Quinn that. Isn't she so _pretty_, Santana?" Santana is mocking, but in a good-natured way. "I got so tired of hearing about how _pretty_ you are that I really wanted to punch you, just so she'd shut up."

"Santana," Brittany scolds, muffled behind the comforter.

"You were just jealous," Quinn snickers.

"You wish, Q," Santana rolls into an upright position, and smooths a hand down her hair. "It was how I first realized Brittany is about as straight as a pretzel, though."

"They make straight pretzels," Brittany says defensively.

Santana rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Point is, without me having to listen to Brittany sigh and swoon over you for a whole school year, I don't know that I would have ever figured out that she wanted all up on this."

Quinn frowns, and glances down at Brittany. Brittany's watching Santana walk around her bedroom, though, tossing dirty clothes into a basket and organizing her desk. "I'm gonna catch a shower," Santana says briefly, before disappearing out the door.

Quinn shifts and shrugs beneath the blanket, tugging it gently away from Brittany's face. She gives Brittany a warm smile. "You should have said something."

Brittany only shakes her head and bites her lip, and then she glances at the door where Santana disappeared.

"It's really funny, isn't it," Brittany says, quietly, "That it took me having a crush on another girl for her to realize she wanted all up on this?"

Quinn lets that sink into her and then she slowly nods, her smile dying on her face.

She begins to see the game that they're in more clearly, now.

* * *

"I have a family thing this weekend," Santana says, packing a bag. Quinn sits in Santana's computer chair and watches, while Brittany fiddles with the zipper and tries not to look too morose.

"But it's the last weekend of the summer." Brittany protests, and it earns a look from Santana that is unique – somewhere between annoyed and twitterpated.

"I'm sorry, Britt. Come back early Monday. We'll spend all week together."

Quinn, looking between the both of them, tries to find some way to ease Brittany's unhappiness. "We'll hang out, Brittany. It'll be fun."

Brittany looks at Quinn and nods, but she still looks so sad. It takes a moment, but she shifts off Santana's bed and walks across the room, and without warning she's folding herself into Quinn's lap. Quinn, startled, reaches out to grasp Brittany around the waist and on the knee.

Santana scowls at them, tossing a tank-top into her overnight bag. "Look, stop pouting. It's not the end of the world."

Brittany just shakes her head and buries her face against Quinn's neck.

"You're being a baby," Santana states, and zips her bag closed.

"Don't be a bitch," Quinn warns, stroking a hand through Brittany's hair.

"Shut up, Quinn," Santana sneers.

"Don't fight," Brittany mumbles, and the scathing retort dies in Quinn's mouth.

Santana sighs, and softens. Quinn wonders what exactly she sees when she looks at them; it's an expression reserved solely for the times when Santana looks at Quinn and Brittany together, particularly if they're holding one another.

"Just come back really early Monday." Santana says, and Brittany finally nods. Quinn, helpless to resist a demand from Santana or a plea from Brittany, nods, too.

As if she could stay away.

* * *

"Oh." Martin kicks his shoe against the carpet, hand still on the doorknob, eyeing Quinn and Brittany up and down. "It's you."

"Sorry to disappoint you, squirt," Brittany says, and brushes past him.

Quinn just offers a mild smile, not missing the way Martin follows Brittany with his eyes. Santana's little brother is short with dark hair that he spends hours gelling into spikes, and he looks like a younger, rougher version of Santana, minus her lips.

"Santana is _sleeping,_" Martin says, shutting the door. He scampers after them quickly, but draws to a stop parallel with Quinn, ducking his head.

Quinn thinks he's cute, so she gives him a bigger smile.

"Really?" Brittany asks, surprised. "It's like one."

Quinn is surprised, too. Santana doesn't like to sleep into the afternoon, even if she isn't the early riser that Brittany is. They didn't come early in the morning because they slept in, too – but they had an excuse.

"Her medication makes her sleepy." Martin says, blinking owlishly when Brittany turns to look at him.

"Medication? For what?"

"For her surgery." Martin says with a shrug.

"What?" Quinn asks, alarmed.

Martin is beginning to look nervous. "The surgery she had on Saturday."

"What kind of surgery?" Brittany's voice is hard and demanding, now.

Martin, squirming, glances away. "You know. On her _pechugas_."

Brittany's face is screwed up and she's staring at Martin, hard.

Quinn has no idea what _pechugas_ are.

"Did she have her appendix out?" Quinn asks, worried. "Did something happen at your family reunion?"

"What?" Martin looks confused, now.

"Oh, no," Brittany breathes, and the second understanding washes over her face, she's hurtling through the house, pounding up the stairs to Santana's room.

Quinn, bewildered, follows at a slower pace, glancing at Martin over her shoulder. Martin watches her go with an equally perplexed look.

Santana's room is dark, the curtains drawn. Brittany is standing over the edge of Santana's bed, staring down at her, and Quinn warily joins her.

"Stop faking it," Brittany says grimly. "I know you're not asleep."

Santana just sighs and rolls over, and Quinn's eyes go wide.

She's shirtless, and a bandage is wrapped over her chest.

"Santana." Brittany's voice is tight, like she's battling anger. It's strange to hear, because Quinn didn't think Brittany was ever angry. "Why?"

"You know why, Britt," Santana says, her face aimed towards the wall.

"Well I don't." Quinn says, and it makes both of them look at her.

Eventually, when the silence grows long and awkward, Santana shrugs. "I just wanted them, okay?"

Echoes from Quinn's own past, of hospital rooms and bruises and swelling, flash through her mind. She sees the way Brittany's face tightens, but she only nods, because she understands.

"It's done, Britt." Santana says, and her voice is weak and slightly pleading.

"You shouldn't have lied." Brittany doesn't sound angry anymore, only defeated.

Quinn sees the way Santana's face screws up, and she looks an instant away from crying.

She can't handle that, so she reaches down and rubs a soothing had over Santana's forehead, trying to smooth away the pain there. It seems to help, a little, because Santana catches her wrist and pulls their palms together.

"I'm sorry." Santana whispers.

Brittany shakes her head, and a moment passes where Quinn feels like the slightest pressure would make them both break. They look at each other, something heavy and silent in their eyes, before Brittany finally relents and crawls on top of the blankets, careful not to jar Santana. Then she's slipping beneath the covers and sliding a careful arm over Santana's waist.

Quinn strokes Santana's knuckles with her thumb and looks down at them.

"Do you need anything?" Quinn asks, because she remembers the pain and the sickness and the shame that comes from inflicting this all on yourself.

Santana just sighs and nods. "I want ice. This hurts like a bitch."

"Okay." Quinn squeezes Santana's hand, and then goes to find bags of frozen peas.

Their last week together passes with more silence than ever before, and Quinn notices most of all the way Brittany seems to draw into herself. Santana doesn't seem that different – grouchy because of the pain, needy and demanding and volatile, but that's usual, for her. She allows Quinn to doctor her, making snide comments about dressing up in a nurse costume the whole time. Quinn, smiling, changes Santana's bandages and applies healing ointment around Santana's nipples, wincing at the bruising and the tenderness of Santana's flesh. Brittany, who can't abide the sight, keeps her face turned away and pretends it's not happening.

It starts to bother Quinn, though, when Brittany never fully returns to being happy and carefree. She knows the boob job was a surprise – and it sort of put a damper on their last week of summer – but Quinn is content, because she gets to spend time with them, and even when they spend long, quiet days in Santana's bedroom, Quinn is able to catch moments that spark and shine so brightly that she wants to keep them in a jar like fireflies. She doesn't understand how Brittany doesn't cherish these moments, too.

"What's wrong, Brittany?" Quinn asks, quietly, the last Saturday they have before school starts. Santana is napping in the midday, made drowsy by painkillers and the "boring chick flick" on the television. Quinn watches Brittany watching Santana, and it's almost as if Brittany is afraid Santana is going to disappear.

"School starts soon." Brittany says dully.

Quinn nods. "Aren't you excited, though? It's going to be fun. We'll be on Cheerios again, and the glee club."

Brittany just sighs and shakes her head. She draws her knees up, shielding her body, and rests her chin against them. She glances at Quinn and Quinn is shocked by the level of sorrow shining in her eyes.

"Everything is going to change."

Quinn's throat swells in response to Brittany's declaration. Suddenly, she feels nervous, and the fear of losing that's always been crouched, like a shadow in her mind, amplifies. "What do you mean?"

Brittany presses her lips together and then turns to look at Santana again. Quinn does the same, letting her eyes roam over the resting features of the sleeping girl, wondering what exactly Brittany saw that made her so miserable.

"You'll see."

* * *

**A/N:** :)


	5. Chapter 5

Quinn wants to ask Brittany what she means; _you'll see_ is oblique and cryptic, even for Brittany. But Quinn is prepared for things to change, because (unlike Brittany) she never expects good things to last. She imagines school will return Santana and Brittany to their slots at the top of the social ladder, and Quinn will be left behind. She hasn't forgotten the acidic way Coach Sue looked at her and told her she was off the squad. She hasn't forgotten the pain and shame that came with having one more person sneer at her and consider her worthless.

It doesn't surprise her when Santana is promoted to head of the Cheerios; it does surprise her when Santana insists Quinn get a spot back on the squad. Quinn was not expecting anything from Santana, much less kindness, so it's hard to hide her shock when Santana finds her on the first Wednesday of their junior year, holding the wire hanger with a Cheerios outfit strung up on it, covered in plastic sheeting, with a look on her face that makes it seem like she's tasted something mildly unpleasant.

"Here, Q, damn. I'm not your personal assistant, I can't be seen carrying your uniform around."

Quinn's eyebrows shoot upwards, and she scans Santana's face and then the proffered garment. She's slightly befuddled but she takes it from Santana, who only shakes it impatiently and tries to look bored. "My uniform?" Quinn is the slightest bit dumbfounded, so she can't be expected to be witty or trite right now.

Not so much Santana, who rolls her eyes. "You owe me, Q, for the things I had to do to get you that uniform. Seriously. Coach Sue is a beast."

Quinn stares at the polyester outfit, more because she can't bring herself to look Santana in the eyes. She's afraid of what Santana would see there – an embarrassing amount of gratitude, probably.. but Quinn is more frightened of the other emotion flaring inside her chest, which makes her blink away the moisture behind her eyelids and press her lips together to avoid letting them tremble.

"Thank you," Quinn says, when she can manage to find her voice. She tugs her bottom lip into her mouth and then lifts her head, gathering enough courage to glance at Santana's face.

Santana has her arms crossed with her head aimed away from Quinn, and her eyebrows are knit together as if she is trying to unscramble a particularly hard riddle. She lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and the way she cants her head makes her long, curly ponytail bob. "Don't get all emotional on me, twinkle toes. Just don't forget that I own you now."

Quinn nods, and wrinkles her eyebrows, a little confused about what Santana is implying. But she doesn't get a chance to clarify before Santana snaps her attention towards a group of girls down the hallway, and she's muttering in Spanish under her breath as she stomps her way towards them.

Quinn can't help but smirk at the sight of Santana honing in on the freshmen who plan on trying out for Cheerios. Quinn knows she was a fierce taskmaster in her day as the captain of the team, but she imagines Santana will be worse. Santana is infinitely more brittle than Quinn, because – unlike Quinn – she refuses to bend to any force, so it makes her prone to snapping. Quinn knows when enough is enough, and she also wields honey as well as vinegar; Santana is all strident cayenne pepper, hot and impatient. It will make for an interesting year, that's for sure.

Quinn doesn't know how to feel about the gift Santana gave her, however indirectly and nonchalantly. She thinks about it the whole time she's changing in the bathroom, pulling down the mundane jeans and blouse that make her just another face in the crowd, and zipping up the stiff red top that makes her an icon in this school. Most of her is glad, and grateful, but a small part of her is a little bit uneasy. Quinn doesn't like the idea of being indebted to anyone, much less Santana, who has already given Quinn so much in the terms of things neither of them would ever talk about.

And although she would never admit it out loud, Quinn had been a little bit relieved to find herself on the outside of that clique of gossipy back-stabbing girls, able to drift along with her head beneath the current. It felt like the pressure was eased up, a little bit, and she could try fitting herself into the mold of _normal._ Santana had different ideas, though, and Quinn knows she would be stupid to refuse Santana this. Or anything, really.

Quinn also knows that, however much the Cheerios uniform distorts her and turns her into a person she barely recognizes, she feels safer with it on. She feels vindicated and powerful, and most of all _worthy_, which is a sentiment Quinn has chased her entire life. She knows that it's superficial to get that kind of validation from a position on the cheerleading squad, but it is what it is.

She tightens her hair at the crown of her head and examines herself in the mirror, checking for the differences that, surely, most of the student body will be looking for. But Quinn has a critical eye and even she can see that it's nearly seamless, her transformation from teenager to mother to whatever she is now. Still a teenager, but also someone's mother, and the only proof is carried around as weight behind her eyes.

She thinks it's not a coincidence that the first person to see her in her new Cheerios outfit is Brittany, who wanders into the bathroom and then stops, startled, at the sight of Quinn in front of the bathroom mirror.

Quinn smiles, because it's the first instinct she has, and her eyes skip up and down Brittany's body in a way that could be considered appreciative, but which Quinn only defines as fond.

"Wow," Brittany states, and Quinn feels like she's blossoming from the simple praise, the way a cat might arch into a palm patting its head.

She looks down at herself and smooths her hands over the material of her skirt, attempting to chase away imaginary wrinkles. "Thanks."

Brittany walks over to stand close to Quinn, and like always Quinn feels her heart start to knock in her chest. She steadies herself by looking up and into Brittany's eyes, which are slanted and so blue that it almost hurts. Brittany gives Quinn that slow, assured smile that makes Quinn's belly twist and then Brittany lifts her hand to tug playfully at Quinn's ponytail. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Quinn, for the second time in less than an hour, is taken utterly aback. She falters, and then turns to regard herself in the mirror again, worried that the things she couldn't see before are now much more obvious to someone like Brittany.

"Yes," Quinn says, and hopes she sounds convincing.

Brittany just hums and then her face flashes into a full blown grin, and Quinn finds her anxiety melting away.

"Good." Brittany smirks then. "I like you in the skirt."

Quinn laughs nervously, and she wouldn't ever describe it as a giggle herself, but she's sure someone else (less concerned with preserving her dignity) might. Brittany looks tickled pink at the noise, and she turns towards one of the bathroom stalls.

"I'm sure that's the same reason Santana gave it to me," Quinn's still smiling as she says this, and she reaches into her bag to retrieve her makeup.

Brittany stops mid-stride, then turns slowly to look at Quinn. Quinn arches her eyebrows, studying Brittany's reflection, noting how absolutely still she is.

"Santana gave it to you?"

Quinn bobs her head, and pulls the cap off her eyeliner pencil with a muffled pop. "It is a little surprising."

Brittany nods, but the frozen look on her face doesn't go away. She looks back towards the stall, slightly bewildered, as if she had forgotten why she needed to go in there.

"Santana is a tough cookie to crack sometimes."

Quinn thought she was used to Brittany's quirky metaphors, but this one – however flippant it sounds – makes her pause and something inside of her flinch.

"What do you mean, Britt?"

Brittany just shrugs, and continues staring at the wall of the bathroom, lost in thought. "She's being different."

"Yeah?" Quinn puts the eyeliner away, and then considers searching for some blush or foundation but decides she looks good enough. She's impatient with the tedium of applying makeup when Brittany is being so damn evasive. "Is that a good thing?"

Brittany shrugs, and Quinn turns to look at her directly, trying to read her face like she would one of her books. Quinn has never considered herself an expert on either girl, and she has always felt slightly intimidated by how intimate the two are – they _know_ each other much more thoroughly than Quinn could ever know them, because they've been in each other's pockets for nearly a decade now. Quinn could never compete with that kind of tenure, so she is always keen to pick up on the slightest nuance that would give something away about what one of them thinks or feels.

Quinn finds the more she tries to do this, the more complicated it becomes. Brittany is an amalgam of contradictions; an expressionless mien and deadpan voice might hide her most enthusiastic emotion, be it joy or sorrow. Sometimes a simple and easy feeling ripples the surface of her, like the wind on a still lake, and there is no pattern by which Quinn has found that these things are expressed. Sometimes Quinn is overwhelmed by Brittany's happiness, which occasionally crashes through her with the force of a lightning strike. Other times, Brittany is so soft and subtle that Quinn aches with it, and she yearns to understand what exactly it is that makes Brittany tic.

Santana is easier in some ways but much more difficult in others, because her face is like a mood ring, shifting from hot to cold so fluidly that a person could be mesmerized by it. Quinn sure is. She sometimes wonders what it's like to _be_ Santana, with all those emotions welling up inside of her, flaring and shifting so suddenly and vehemently that it gives Quinn whiplash. Quinn can often tell how Santana feels, by looking at her – but that doesn't make Quinn's job of understanding her any easier, because Quinn is often baffled to the _why_ of it all. Santana can look as pleased as the cat that got the canary just by watching Quinn file her nails.. and then seconds later, thunderous clouds can roll over her face, heralding am oncoming storm of anger. Quinn is often clueless and has learned not to question it, because that just pisses Santana off more.

Just when Quinn thinks she's beginning to get a handle on them, they both surprise her, and the different ways they find to do this is a little bit astounding.

"I guess we'll see," Brittany says, when the silence grows long between them. Quinn frowns, puzzling over another one of Brittany's vague explanations, and Brittany finally walks into one of the stalls and latches the door.

"You're being very mysterious, Brittany," Quinn says, trying to sound more casual than she feels.

Quinn can hear the smile in Brittany's voice, "Like Sherlock Holmes?"

Quinn chuckles and shakes her head, and in doing so, shakes off the foreboding feeling that planted itself in her gut. "Yes, just like him."

"Cool." Brittany flushes and a moment later wanders over to the sink. Quinn watches her wash her hands and as soon as she's done drying them, she cups their palms together and guides Brittany out of the bathroom.

She notices the way people stare at her, in the hallway, but with Brittany's fingers wrapped around hers she feels like the glare of the spotlight is soft and soothing, instead of burning.

* * *

Quinn tries to watch for this sudden or gradual change in Santana that Brittany predicted, but she never really senses one. She spends less time with the two of them as the weeks climb towards months, and she's bogged down with AP classes and honor roll duties, as well as glee club assignments and Cheerios practice. She watches the way Santana rules over the squad with an iron fist, and Quinn marvels at how Santana appears to fray at the edges more with every passing day. She wonders if it was that obvious when it was her, and it makes her heart hurt for Santana in a peculiar way. Quinn knows what it's like to bear the brunt of Sue's wrath, and so she has nothing but sympathy for Santana – which Santana despises, so Quinn never offers it.

Brittany is actually the one who changes, becoming sullen and withdrawn, and Quinn can't decipher why. She watches the two of them dance around each other at glee club meetings and rehearsals, but she feels like they're speaking a language she only partially understands. Neither one of them changes in particular towards her, which baffles Quinn all the more. Santana remains bitingly affectionate, with always a sassy remark and a heated smirk. Brittany seeks her out when she's had enough of dealing with the day, and Quinn knows all Brittany wants is for Quinn to stroke her hair and play with her fingers and let them sit in silence for a little while.

Eventually their sleepovers taper off and then fade away altogether, and even though Quinn misses the nearness of them and the unique scent of their skin together, she doesn't think to ask either of them directly about it. Quinn is shy about demanding attention from them – she doesn't want to seem too needy or clingy, traits she knows that neither one of them finds particularly appealing in the boys they've dated. Quinn doesn't stop to consider that maybe she isn't like a boy to them, in that regard; she doesn't allow herself to hope for more, and so because she has no expectations, she has no room for disappointment or potential for rejection.

Quinn suffers through Finn and Rachel with a mask of indifference, less affected by them than she is by Brittany and Santana. That doesn't stop her from noticing the new boy, Sam, and the way he looks at her.

He looks at her with the same thirsty, craving look that Puck used to give her – but in Sam, it's also mingled with the soft, gentle way Brittany looks at her, and it confuses her emotions. If Sam was just like Puck, with fierce hunger written on his face, Quinn wouldn't have a hard time ignoring him. She isn't that girl anymore, who flocks to any kind of heat, mindless of the danger (much like a moth to an open flame, oblivious to its own doom); no, she's had her fill of that. But deeper in Quinn is the desire to feel the way Santana feels for Brittany.. and she yearns to know what words, exactly, lie behind those feelings, and if she could ever feel them herself.

(Quinn ignores the insistent voice inside of her that tugs her towards Brittany and Santana, like a metronome, constant and unwavering in its assertion that _she already does_-)

So Quinn starts talking to Sam. It truly is only the act of conversing, because Quinn despises the idea of a relationship and she doesn't miss the predatory, possessive way Santana stares at her whenever she stands too close to Sam. They talk, and Quinn learns things about him that are endearing and sweet, but really, she learns more about herself than he does from their conversations.

She learns that she doesn't have that desperate, cataclysmic feeling for Sam, and she doesn't think she ever will. When he tries to kiss her, she balks, and he backs off. Quinn lets the idea of Sam go, and she settles with being his friend, though she knows he wants more from her.

Quinn believes that this will be the way her junior year will go, and the thought isn't totally depressing. She decides that she tried too hard her freshman and sophomore year, and she lost everything – but if she settles for coasting, instead of struggles for achieving, then she can enjoy an easy ride. Quinn has learned not to fight so hard for things she only wants because other people expect her to want them. It keeps her safe.

It means she doesn't fight at all for the things she genuinely wants because she _wants_ them, but Quinn thinks that this might be a good thing, too.

Or at least she tries to convince herself of that.

* * *

Quinn isn't expecting Santana to appear out of one of the long corridors feeding into the main hallway, swishing into existence at the exact moment Quinn steps past the juncture of the two spaces. She startles and stares at Santana, her heart leaping. She checked herself out of biology to go to the bathroom, and is on her way back when Santana sidles up next to her. She knows Santana is supposed to be in ceramics class with Brittany, but from the hard, lined look on Santana's face, Quinn decides not to remark on it.

"What's up?" Quinn asks quietly. Santana is walking with such determination that Quinn doesn't believe it's happenstance for them to be next to each other right now. Quinn scans the rows of empty lockers, and since classes are in session, they're deserted. Santana's white sneakers tap out a hard staccato against the linoleum, completely muffling Quinn's squeaky step.

Santana doesn't say anything, only grunts, and circles Quinn's wrist with her left hand. Quinn is surprised – both by the actual action and by the force of the grip. Her mouth hangs open slightly and her eyes are wide with shock when Santana pulls ahead of her and then drags her down a different hallway.

It leads to an older wing of the school, occupied mostly by empty classrooms and storage closets. The paint on the wall is chipped and dull, the baseboards gray and cracking. Quinn isn't familiar with the particular door Santana pushes through, and she's a little stunned and curious about the fact that she's standing in one of the small, three-stall bathrooms that, she's pretty sure, doesn't even get regular visits from the janitor. She eyes an empty soap dispenser and it only confirms her suspicions.

"Santana, what's going on?" Quinn turns around just in time to see Santana flicking the locking mechanism into place. It slides easily, and Santana does it with such confidence, Quinn thinks Santana must have come here several times before and locked herself in.

Santana doesn't say anything, still, and the look on her face is one that's a mixture between hard and hot, a combination that makes apprehension coil low in Quinn's gut. She inhales a sharp breath when Santana takes two long strides and closes the distance between them, grasping Quinn at the base of her neck with one hand and sliding the other around her waist. Quinn has a moment's glimpse of Santana's dark, angry eyes before Santana crushes their mouths together.

Quinn has never kissed Santana like this, when she's all teeth and venom. Quinn struggles to breathe around Santana's lips, which suck onto her own and then her tongue is diving into her mouth and Quinn finally realizes what it's like to be inside of a storm. Santana's fingers crawl into her hair and then with a swift, angry movement she's yanking the band of her ponytail down.

Quinn gasps, both from the shock of her head pulling backwards and the sudden way her hair is freed, but she has less than a second before Santana is pushing her up against the cold tile of the wall and pressing their bodies together. Quinn feels the way her chest is heaving, lungs battling for air, and how it pushes against Santana in an uneven dance. Santana's mouth is back on hers again, and that dark, bitter flavor that Quinn always associates with Santana is somehow amplified. It tastes like copper and dark chocolate, and the way Santana pushes her tongue back into her own mouth whenever she tries to kiss Santana back is vicious. Quinn's lips get hot and swollen within moments, and she realizes that she's frozen, sandwiched between Santana and the wall, her hands clutching futilely at the stiff fabric of Santana's cheer top.

Santana never stops moving, though. Her hands roam restlessly through Quinn's hair, using it as leverage to angle her face, while the other grips her hip and then dips beneath the snug top, fingertips pressing into soft flesh. Quinn is dizzy and drunk and she can't breathe, and even though there's a throbbing between her legs she knows something about this doesn't exactly feel right.

"Where's Brittany?" Quinn's words are airy and haggard, and she pulls her face away from Santana because she feels slightly lightheaded. She looks into Santana's eyes and feels that coil of fear tighten slightly, and her heart kicks into overdrive.

Santana's face is flushed and her lips are full, and even though she looks sexy, Quinn has never seen her seem so desperate and wild. She looks like an animal caught in a cage, and instead of cowering in the back corner and staying still, she's thrashing about wildly trying to escape, at any cost.

"Don't talk," Santana demands, and Quinn's protest dies in her throat because Santana's unzipping her cheer skirt and pulling it down her legs. The shock of being suddenly _naked_ below the waist, save for her stretchy red spanks, makes her heart fly into her throat and she's even more unsteady than she was before. Santana grips her around the waist again, and then she pushes herself between Quinn's legs. Quinn stumbles slightly, but Santana steadies her, and in a flash she's cupping the inside of Quinn's thigh and pulling at her leg. Quinn shifts her weight until one of her legs is wrapped around Santana's waist, and she swallows at the feeling of Santana being so close to her.

She's looking into Quinn's eyes now and the expression is hungry and consuming, like a wildfire. Quinn's pulse pounds in every last nerve of her body and she gasps again in surprise when Santana reaches down to grasp her other leg. Quinn slaps her palms against the wall, a cold _smack,_ as her weight is re-centers and now she's wedged between the solid tile and Santana's soft, strong body with both knees squeezing tightly around Santana's waist, ankles locked.

"S-Santana," Quinn stutters, gripping at Santana's shoulders with unsteady hands. She would never have believed Santana had the strength to support her like this, but Santana is unwavering, and Quinn's fear of crashing to the ground slowly dissipates when Santana slides both of her hands up under her top, soft, warm palms sliding against her belly, fingertips dancing along her ribs in long, firm strokes.

Quinn looks down at Santana and it surprises her that Santana _lets_ her look. The moment pauses between them, like thrumming bass that's stuck on one long beat, and Quinn searches Santana's eyes, while Santana looks back, reflecting Quinn's unspoken questions back at her like the surface of shiny, impenetrable flint. Quinn squeezes Santana's shoulders and Santana's lips curve in the smallest of smiles, the tiny corners of her mouth peeking upwards.

Then Santana's leaning forward again and Quinn can feel her _everywhere,_ stretching the muscles in her thighs and hips, pushing insistently against her abdomen to crane upwards for a kiss. Quinn angles her head down and cups Santana's neck, thumb stroking the downy hairs that curl free along her hairline. Their lips meet and Quinn returns Santana's fire, sucking at Santana's lower lip and then scraping her teeth over it. Quinn thrills at the sound of Santana's little grunt, rumbling deep in her throat, and she's smiling a wide smile into their kiss as Santana nips and then licks into her mouth again.

Quinn is used to the impatient way Santana's hands roam over her, restless and ravenous, as if she believes Quinn might vanish at any moment. It takes her no time to tug and pull uselessly at Quinn's top, which is too snug for her to reach up and cup Quinn's breasts, before she's cursing and then yanking the zipper down. Quinn gurgles out a breathless laugh that's swallowed up in a moan the second Santana's fingers find her nipple, and she's clutching Santana's neck and shoulder desperately. Santana leans forward and licks at her throat, pressing moist, hot kisses into the dips and hollows between Quinn's collarbones and neck.

"Fuck," Quinn mutters, and her body begins a long, fluid rolling motion against Santana, grinding her hips into Santana's waist. Her head thuds back against the tile and she bites her lip, gripping Santana as tightly as she can. "Shit. Santana."

Her only vocabulary consists of curse words and Santana's name, and it makes Santana grin into Quinn's skin. Her right hand holds Quinn firm, and her left roams the slight space between them, thumb brushing Quinn's nipple, palm sliding against her hot, slick skin. She can feel the way Quinn is quivering and edgy, and every time Quinn's body thrusts against hers Santana feels something deep inside of her respond, a long, liquid tug from inside her ribs to between her legs. She uses her teeth on Quinn's neck, biting the soft, fragrant skin behind her ear, and then she soothes the same spot with her tongue, warm and velvet. It makes Quinn's breath explode in whimpery, desperate gasps, and her fingers are bruising Santana's shoulders.

"You're so fucking wet," Santana whispers, at the same moment her hand snakes between them and Quinn can feel her palm on the outside of her spanks. She swallows and closes her eyes, fighting to keep control of her breathing and her noises, but Santana's fingers are moving against her through the fabric and she can feel Santana's lips on the shell of her ear and it's making more desperate than she's ever felt before. She can't help the needy, shameless way she grinds against Santana's hand, or the muffled, whiny moans that sneak past her lips.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" Santana's voice is hot and molten, and right against her ear, and Quinn's throat clicks when she tries to swallow. She feels a rush of heat between her legs and she knows that she's soaked, and she knows that Santana can feel it and her hips are rolling and restless. A pressure has begun building inside of her, low in her belly, and she's more frantic with every passing second. "Do you, Quinn?"

The way Santana says Quinn's name – the whole word, not just one clipped syllable – makes Quinn shudder and writhe. "Oh my god, yes," Quinn breathes, and she takes her hand away from Santana's shoulder and pushes it between their bodies awkwardly. She grunts and shifts and tries to force Santana's hands beneath the hem of her spankies.

Santana leans forward and bites Quinn's earlobe, and she uses her hand to push Quinn's away. Quinn's fingers dig into Santana's hair and she's a second away from begging when Santana finally, finally, slides her fingers under the elastic.

Quinn's moan is strangled in her throat and comes out gasping, and her whole body is pitched and curled into Santana's, quaking. Santana sucks languidly at Quinn's earlobe, teasing it, her tongue dancing and flicking inside her mouth and it makes Quinn shake. Her fingers stroke long, solid strokes against the outside of Quinn. She bucks and whines, thrusting blindly, but Santana only smiles and moves her mouth to the delicate area of skin at the hinge of Quinn's jaw.

"Holy fuck," Quinn mutters, eyes squeezed tightly closed, her hands fisted so tightly her knuckles ache. "Santana. God."

"Yeah?" Santana husks, her voice low and sharp, sliding through Quinn's body like a shot of whiskey. She presses wet, open-mouthed kisses against Quinn's neck and her fingers play inside Quinn's spanks, but she doesn't touch her fully.

"Please. Santana, just, please," Quinn is pulling at Santana with quick, frantic motions. Her body is so wound up she feels like it will never untangle, and Santana is enjoying every second of it, but Quinn doesn't care. She feels like all the blood in her body is pooled between her legs, and she's hot and swollen and so sensitive it almost aches.

"Please what?" Santana's lips journey upwards, kissing the firm edge of Quinn's jaw and then along her cheek. Quinn's head is moving restlessly, as is every part of her body, and Santana aims for her lips but gets the corner of Quinn's mouth instead.

"Fuck me," Quinn's voice breaks, and she grips Santana's hair and pulls her face close. They're breathing the same air and it pumps out of Quinn is hot, heady waves, and she feels Santana's lips smiling when she pushes their mouths together. "Now. God." Quinn mutters, with their lips still touching.

Santana slips two fingers into Quinn so suddenly it makes Quinn groan against her lips, and then Santana's mouth is hungry on hers again, open and demanding and hot, her tongue diving deep while her fingers do the same thing. Quinn feels helpless, like she's caught between two unstoppable forces, and her body shakes and trembles with an effort to keep up with it all. Santana thrusts lazily into her once, twice, and on the third time another finger slips in and it makes Quinn's body clench and suck and the noises generating deep in her chest are mindless, vibrating into Santana's mouth.

Santana's fingers are stretching inside of her, rubbing deep and in a way that only Santana can. She starts slow but increases the tempo, and before long the heel of her hand is smacking against Quinn, making muffled wet noises between them, and Quinn is sobbing, because her body is rolling and writhing helplessly. She pulls her face away from Santana because her mouth is too sloppy and lazy to continue, but she keeps her hand buried in Santana's hair while Santana licks at the base of her throat.

It's never built this fast before, like a firestorm, flashing suddenly into existence; she feels it rising deep in her stomach and she groans, belly tightening and jumping in anticipation, spine arching painfully against the unyielding wall. Santana's breath hitches, another damp sound among the chorus of wet, slick slapping, and Santana pulls away from Quinn's neck to watch her face. Her eyes are squeezed shut and she's biting her lip so desperately she can almost taste blood.

Santana can feel Quinn getting tighter and tighter, and she can see the way Quinn's chest is heaving. She watches Quinn, the way her perfect tawny eyebrows are knit above her closed eyes, and the way her cheeks are dark pink and her lips are deep crimson. Her hair is wild and little golden flyaways dance and catch the light, like dust motes.

"Fuck," Santana murmurs, overwhelmed. "Come for me, Quinn."

Quinn stifles a cry, and her whole body seizes up. Santana's breathing is ragged and her eyes are deep and dark, and she doesn't even mind the way her wrist is cramping as she plunges in and out of Quinn. She shudders in response to the way Quinn clenches around her fingers, sucking, and Quinn's face breaks as a high, thin cry leaves her lips. Quinn is suspended, frozen for an instant before she's crashing against Santana, grunting and shifting and spasming. Santana holds her steady, and listens to her own heart thundering in her chest while Quinn writhes and rides it out.

Santana is winded and her body is throbbing, and she presses hot, impatient kisses against Quinn's slack face. Quinn is still and stunned against the wall, and she groans as she slowly begins to regain the ability to be cognizant. She slowly unlatches her legs from around Santana's waist, and she clutches at Santana uneasily because her legs are wobbly. Santana holds her with one firm hand, the other still buried inside of her, until she's stable. Then Santana slowly draws her fingers out, making Quinn shudder, and she peeks her eyes open just in time to see Santana draw one finger into her mouth. It stirs something deep in her gut, watching Santana lick and suck on her own finger, and she breathes heavily. Santana smiles that wicked, smoky smile and then she presses the other two of her fingers to Quinn's lips.

Quinn inhales sharply, and she's met with the scent of herself, tangy-rich-sweet. She isn't given a chance to think about it or refuse – Santana's slipping the tips of her fingers between Quinn's lips and she's startled both at the sudden invasion and at the way that it tastes, which is _nothing_ like what she thought, or even much like it smells. It's thick and hot, and she stares at Santana with wide eyes until Santana wiggles her fingers against the roof of her mouth and she sucks on instinct.

Santana's jaw immediately drops, and the shocked expression on her face makes Quinn take more of Santana's fingers into her mouth. She sucks a little bit harder, and uses her tongue to tease between them and lick at the webbing at the base. Santana bites her bottom lip and gives Quinn a helpless look, like she can't believe what's happening. A second passes where Quinn feels triumphant, but it lasts only for an instant before Santana is ripping her hand away from Quinn's face and she looks brittle and angry.

Quinn can't figure out what happened, because Santana's a whirlwind again, her movements impatient and jerky: she's unzipping her own Cheerios skirt and kicking it away, and then she peels her own spanks down and tosses them aside. Quinn gapes at the easy way Santana undresses, and she catches a glimpse of Santana's long, caramel-colored thighs before Santana grabs her face and is fusing their mouths together.

This kiss is different from the ones they've shared before; it's eager and demanding, and Quinn can feel the heat of Santana's palms against her cheeks because she won't let go. Quinn tries to gentle Santana, stroking her tongue softly into Santana's mouth, dancing lightly, but Santana nips and sucks and growls impatiently. A moment passes where the only thing that exists is their kissing, and Quinn feels herself slowly being swallowed by it. Then Santana jerks her head away and twirls them, so that her back is braced against the wall and Quinn is facing her. Santana's eyes are dark shadows in her face, and her lips are parted slightly as she pants. Quinn moves in to kiss her again, but Santana pushes against Quinn's shoulder with her left hand so suddenly it surprises Quinn. She looks at Santana with wide eyes, but Santana just keeps pushing, and the force makes Quinn's knees buckle. She grunts and tries to shift away from Santana's palm, but then Santana's other hand grips Quinn's elbow and pulls downwards, too.

It clicks for her then, and Quinn's belly tightens on nerves and excitement when she realizes what Santana wants. She stares at Santana's face, her flushed cheeks and swollen lips, for a moment longer before she acquiesces, slipping onto her knees. Santana's breathing intensifies and echoes in the tiled room. Quinn licks her lips nervously, keeping her eyes trained on Santana's face, because she's never done this before and she has no idea what she's doing.

Quinn has always wanted, _wanted_ to know what it was like, but she never worked up the courage to try it on either of them, especially not Santana, who seemed flustered and angry any time either one of them tried to kiss her anywhere except for her lips for too long. But Quinn remembers the sensation of Brittany's mouth on her, and it makes her insides tremble, and she thinks that even though it's probably impossible to be so turned on again so soon, she knows that she is.

Santana isn't looking at her, though. She's staring at the wall and her breathing is harsh, and she looks like she's far away. But then she fists Quinn's hair roughly and pulls Quinn's face into her, hips rolling outwards. It leaves nothing up for debate: Santana wants this, and she wants it _now._

Quinn scoots forward and then presses her lips against the top of Santana's crease, and it's wet and slick and puffy. She hears Santana's breathing stutter, and so she gains confidence, kissing harder. Santana shifts and slides restlessly, and then she throws one of her legs over Quinn's shoulder. Quinn is surprised by the sudden weight of it, so she grunts, but then she's scooting even closer to Santana and bracing one hand on the wall, another on Santana's thigh. Santana's breaths are laced with faint whines, and the fist she has in Quinn's hair is tight and insistent. Quinn kisses again, and then she slides her tongue out to lick along the seam where it's the wettest.

Santana moans and bucks her hips into Quinn's face, and then she's pushing Quinn harder against her. "God, Quinn, fuck, just do it," Santana says, and her voice is that shaky-desperate tone that Quinn has only ever heard her use on Brittany. It rattles something in Quinn, and part of her wishes she had the same strength to do what Brittany does, and resist Santana's urgency – but she can only obey. Suddenly she's opening her mouth on Santana, and pushing her tongue between into her, and the wetness leaks down her chin and neck. Santana tastes different than Quinn does; sharper and darker, just like her mouth, and slightly bitter. Quinn can feel the way Santana is moving into her, above her, and her tongue finds Santana's clit after only a moment of searching. She laps at it, flattening her tongue and moving it over and over again, her head bobbing slightly with the motion.

"Look at me," Santana demands, raggedly, and Quinn is startled. She glances upwards, her mouth still buried against Santana, and the sight makes Santana squirm and jerk. "Fuck!" She pushes harder at Quinn's face and it makes her stomach tighten painfully.

Quinn keeps her eyes aimed upwards, now, even though the angle hurts her jaw and makes everything more sloppy. Santana is staring at her with a growing desperation that makes her feel both powerful and edgy, and she likes the way Santana's face ripples with every new sensation. She closes her lips around Santana's clit experimentally, and then she sucks, and it causes Santana to gasp out a long moan and her hips to grind into Quinn's face.

"Put your fingers in," Santana manages, and this time it sounds like a request instead of a command. Quinn shifts one of her hands away from the wall and moves it between them, and tentative fingers press against Santana until they find their way inside. Santana gasps at the feeling, and Quinn curls her fingers, reaching deeper. She keeps her mouth on Santana's clit and she sucks and flicks her tongue, but now the pace is quick and frantic because Santana's gripping her so tightly and slamming her hips so furiously that she doesn't have a chance to do anything else. Her body responds to Santana's, almost on automatic, and Santana grunts and thrusts. Quinn pushes at her hip, trying to keep her still, but she doesn't have a chance.

Santana comes so hard and so suddenly that it stuns both of them, and Quinn can't believe the burning intensity of it. Santana shakes and curls in on herself, clutching Quinn's head, and Quinn can feel Santana's body tugging and tugging deep inside. She moans against Santana, her mouth open, because now the wetness is flooding out of Santana in hot waves and it almost burns her skin. Santana's groans are loud and surprised, and she's rocking and pressing the heel of her foot hard into Quinn's back. It's over just as quickly as it begun, and Quinn slowly peels her mouth away from Santana, and then draws her fingers away. Santana is leaning against the wall and breathing shallowly, her eyes shut tight.

She slowly unwinds her hands from Quinn's hair, and Quinn feels the relief of pressure like a sudden ache. She stares up at Santana for a long moment, willing her to open her eyes, to look at her again. But the seconds drag out and Santana just continues to breathe with her eyes closed, and so Quinn slowly, slowly climbs back to her feet.

Her knees are red and they hurt. She rubs at them with her dry hand, and then she walks over to the bathroom sink. It creaks when she turns the faucet, but the water gushes and sputters out. She doesn't look at Santana when Santana finally joins her, and turns on the water of the sink next to her. Santana rubs her fingers slowly beneath the spigot, while Quinn does the same, and then she cups water to her chin. She rinses off her face and neck and can think about nothing else other than Santana, and the silence.

"What was that about?" Quinn is surprised at how steady her voice is. She keeps her gaze aimed at her hands beneath the flood of water. "Why are you mad at Brittany?"

Santana's head jerks in her direction, and even though Quinn isn't looking at her, Quinn can tell Santana's eyes are hot and startled.

"We never do it without Brittany," Quinn explains. She finally lifts her gaze to look at Santana's in the reflection of the mirror, and she's trying to be calculating, but there's too much going on for her to fully understand. Santana's eyes are deep and they flash with anger, but her lips are soft and they press together like she's afraid she'll fall apart.

Santana's eyes flick downwards, then sweep up again, and Quinn wonders if Santana is preparing to lie to her.

"Brittany is dating Artie." Santana says it like the words are ashes in her mouth.

Quinn is a little bit stunned. "Artie? Really?"

Santana doesn't say anything, but her mouth twists down and she snaps the faucet off with jerky flip of her wrist.

Quinn studies her, and she sees the pain and confusion written plain as day on Santana's face. She wonders how anyone else could avoid seeing it – how anyone else could imagine Santana as nothing but a bitch, or untouchable, or heartless.

"Why don't you just tell her how you feel?" Quinn asks, because she's sure that's all Brittany wants – is the words, the actual admission, from Santana's own lips.

Santana's eyes are hot again, and they flash to Quinn with such force that Quinn feels burned.

"Why don't _you_ tell her how you feel?" Santana snaps, and it makes everything in Quinn go cold. She freezes, and her hands start to get wrinkly beneath the spray. She isn't surprised that Santana deflected, but she is surprised that Santana – that Santana said _that._

"What, you think I can't tell?" Santana sneers, and her face wrinkles up like she thinks Quinn is pathetic. It wounds Quinn, deep in her chest, and she tries to breathe through the pain without letting tears spring behind her eyelids. "You're absolutely fucking obvious, Fabray. You look at her with such sparkly doe-eyes that sometimes I think you're going to burst out in song and animated birds are going to fly around your head."

Quinn stares, and then slowly turns the spigot off. She's trying to gather her thoughts, but they flit away from her, elusive as shadows. She can't deny what Santana says, because it's true – a truth she never faced before Santana revealed it to her. It fills Quinn up, like liquid in a glass, and she holds her breath to make sure it doesn't spill over.

She looks at Santana, and the way Santana is so many things at once: fiery and hot, defensive, but with pain so obvious and prominent that it comes off her in waves. She's sliding her spanks back on and then pulling her skirt on with jerky, angry movements, and Quinn's heart trembles. The liquid in the glass teeters at the rim, held back only by some force that defies gravity. Quinn tries to breathe and remembers that blowing through the pain makes it impossible to push, and she's so close to pushing right now, even though it would be the worst thing imaginable.

"Maybe so." Quinn's voice is so quiet and steady it surprises her, again, and she wonders where she finds this well of strength. She certainly doesn't feel strong. She wonders if it's because of Santana, so raw and wild, or because of Brittany, so soft and patient, that she's like this. "That might be true, Santana. But it's obvious you love her, too. And she loves you."

Santana rolls her eyes, and begins gathering her hair into a ponytail. Quinn realizes that Santana is preparing to make as quick an escape as she can, and her heart thumps in her chest. She wishes she could catch onto Santana, but she has a feeling Santana will vanish at the first chance she gets. "Brittany loves everyone, Quinn. That's no secret."

Quinn can't understand what Santana is implying. Isn't it obvious to Santana that Brittany not only loves her, but is _in_ love with her? But then a memory of Brittany whispering those words to her in the sticky dark flashes through her mind, and her throat closes up. Quinn knows what it's like to feel loved by Brittany. Even she isn't sure how to untangle those feelings, the ones that tiptoe between love and in-love. Quinn might have even let herself think Brittany was a little bit in love with her, maybe.

"Look, she just pisses me off." Santana is trying to trivialize it now, and she's dusting off her skirt and then examining herself in the mirror, but steadfastly not looking Quinn in the eye. "Artie is a loser, and Brittany's never had a boyfriend before. What does she think she's doing?"

Quinn's eyebrows wing upwards, and then she turns to find her own cheer skirt. "So you thought that having sex with me would make you feel better?"

Santana's body twitches as if Quinn slapped her, and the look on her face is guilty for an instant before Santana wraps it up in something else, something nonchalant and impersonal. "Quinn, I like having sex with you." She shrugs, like the fact is no big deal. "It doesn't have to have anything to do with her. And yeah, I like it when it's the three of us.." Santana trails off, and looks past Quinn, like she's remembering those countless nights in her bedroom and in her pool. "But it's just as hot with you and me."

Quinn nods, as if she understands, but she really doesn't. Her chest feels hollow and light, and for the first time since that fateful night with Puckerman, Quinn feels used and a little bit ashamed. She never really felt that way with Brittany and Santana, even when she'd accused them of it; and she was always sure, before, that they never intended to use her. She's not so certain, now, with Santana.

"Q." Santana's voice is quieter than it was a moment before, and it makes Quinn look at her. Santana's body is wracked the tiniest of shivers, and her face is so soft and open that it startles Quinn. She looks like she's only one good push away from shattering. "I care about you, okay? Don't be mad at me."

Quinn's eyes catch on the way Santana's bottom lip trembles, and something inside of her trembles, too. Santana sounds like a scared little kid all the sudden, and Quinn knows too well what that feels like. "I'm not mad." She says that first, because her brain is foggy and she's trying to think coherent thoughts, but too much of her is thinking only _Santana_ and then _Brittany_ and she thinks about fragile things, like the gossamer strands of a spider web, and she thinks that all three of them are caught up in one. "I care about you, too."

Santana's body sags, as if she were waiting on bated breath for Quinn to answer. Quinn watches the wave of relief wash over her face, and then she's tightening again, shrugging it off and slipping back into the Santana that pretends she doesn't care.

"Okay. Good." Santana walks past Quinn, and she runs a hand through Quinn's hair, fingers playing with the long golden curls briefly. "I'll see you at lunch."

Quinn hears Santana unlock the door and then pull it open, and she turns to stare at herself in the mirror as it slowly finds the frame again. She sees the dark maroon rosettes on her neck, proof that only seconds ago Santana had her furious mouth there, and she even sees spots that are plum in the center and bloom outwards, and she knows that she'll have hickeys. Her hair is unkempt and disheveled, and her makeup is smeared.

As Quinn fixes her hair and touches up her makeup, she thinks about Santana. She thinks about Brittany, and the way Brittany has seemed cold and distant towards Santana lately. Quinn knows there are things between them that she'll never be privy to, things buried so deep she doesn't even know what questions to ask.

She remembers Santana accusing her of being in love with Brittany, and her heart swells painfully in her chest. It hurts, a twisting, cracking pain that's like her ribs are being pushed slowly apart.

She wonders what exactly would have happened if she had just said it to Santana, right then: if she had been brave enough to say, _I love you, Santana? _Would it have made a difference? Would Santana have looked at her with that deflated, relieved look she had, or would it have been something else? Quinn imagines it, and in her mind all she can see is Santana reacting with fear or disbelief. Even though her heart beats out a dream where Santana smiles and says it back, and _means _it, and her eyes shine with the same bone-deep affection that she always shows to Brittany, Quinn knows in her head that it would never be so.

Santana can't admit to herself that she loves Brittany, or that Brittany loves her; she's not going to be able to face the idea that Quinn loves her, too. Quinn knows Santana doesn't love her back, at least not in _that_ way.. and Quinn wonders if it's possible to be in love with two people at once, and if she is, really. It's a confusing and complicated idea. It leads her thoughts down twisted, narrow trails, overgrown and untamed, and she can't begin to face them all. But her heart, with its steady rhythm, thrums out the answer, and it's _yes, yes, yes._

* * *

**A/N:** Hey everyone! I'm so pleased and grateful for the responses this has gotten! You guys are awesome. :)

Just an FYI, I post previews of chapters and have ongoing discussions about this story and my others on my Tumblr. Feel free to drop me a message there if you have any direct questions: **missmandamargo** . **tumblr** . **com**

Let me know what you think about this chapter! I intended for it to cover much more of their junior year, but that last scene turned was long I decided to cut it in half. I'll probably have the rest of it up within the week.

Thanks guys!


	6. Chapter 6

Santana sees a lot more than most people realize. She knows what people think – they think she's self-centered and selfish, and that she has no regard for anyone but herself. That is an image Santana has carefully cultivated over the years, and she really has no intention of disproving it.

Still, it can sting when the people closest to her believe that the fabrication is the reality. She knows that Quinn thinks she walks around half-blind, and even Brittany doesn't seem to understand the truth about her. It makes Santana lonely in a way she can't name, and for reasons she can't – or won't – try to understand.

Santana sometimes wishes she was as oblivious as she's led everyone to believe, because being as particularly perceptive as she is can be really annoying.

There are things that are glaringly obvious to her, and which she wishes she didn't notice at all, even though she does her best to ignore them.

Lately, most of these things have been centered around Quinn.

Santana notes the way Quinn looks at her, when they're in her bedroom not-watching a movie. Quinn can be hard to read sometimes, but Santana is better at it than most people and the things she sees when Quinn's guard is down – like the glimpse of the inside of a room from behind a cracked door – are troubling and unsettling. Quinn looks at her with a kind of openness that makes Santana nervous.

The dynamic between them is, in some ways, easier than it is between her and Brittany. But in other ways it's infinitely harder. Quinn is just as tightlipped as Santana is about certain things – which always comes as a vast relief – but, when Quinn does want to talk about something, she has laser focus and the tenacity of a bulldog. Brittany is easily distracted; Quinn is like a greyhound on the tail of a rabbit, and Santana finds herself backed into corners she can't deflect her way out of most of the time.

Still, Quinn avoids conflict, which is relieving. Brittany has gotten bolder about things that Santana was sure she understood were off limits.

Sometimes, the things she notices about _herself_ are the scariest of all, and Santana has absolutely no idea what do with such realizations.

One of those things that she wishes she didn't, yet can help but notice, is the way that Quinn's eyes are dappled, like the shadows of tree leaves on the surface of a moss-covered lake. Sometimes, especially after they've spent the weekend "studying," which usually consists of Quinn reading novels while Santana plays with her hair, Santana finds herself so immersed in Quinn's eyes it's like living in some kind of hazy, green dream. When they wake up beside each other on lazy Saturday mornings, and Santana is still too sleep-drunk to think better of it, she smiles into Quinn's face and gets lost in the complexity and refraction of her irises. Quinn smiles back, a soft smile that gives Santana a nervous, fluttery feeling between her ribs, and before long Santana either has to make the decision to acquiesce to the tidal pull of Quinn, or draw away –

And more often, now, she finds herself relenting, and letting Quinn's feet nudge between her own underneath the blankets. It's too much stillness and silence and smiling for Santana to bear, so most of the time she reaches out and pulls Quinn close, and then her hands are stroking down Quinn's sides and her mouth begins tasting the warm, damp, sleep-sweet skin of Quinn's neck and shoulders and jaw—

Sometimes, though, Santana attempts to capture the frightened, jangling, twitchy feeling that batters against her ribcage and bruises her heart, and tries to hold it steady. It shivers and flutters like a delicate, nervous bird, and she can't find words to speak or the air to breathe. Moments like that make Santana more than just scared. Moments like that make Santana want to find the biggest hole to disappear into, or the nearest cliff to careen off of.

It goes on like that for so long that Santana actually begins to think she might be comfortable with it, whatever _it_ is that she and Quinn have. It's not the same thing she and Brittany had, or even the thing all three of them had together. It's new, but enough like the other things that Santana can pretend that it's only this, and certainly not _that._

Still, let's be real here. Santana is – well, she's Santana Lopez, and no matter how content she is with Quinn (or the way Quinn's eyes are like galaxies and stardust), she still has a certain reputation to maintain. An image to uphold. A kingdom to rule.

She has to keep up appearances, so when Adam Townsend asks her out, Santana accepts. He's no Puck or Finn or anyone from the football team, but he's moderately cute and has enough clout at McKinley that it's good for her to be seen with him. Really, Santana would probably do better to be seen with someone a little more popular or good looking, but lately.. she hasn't been that interested in trying to pursue the boys at the top of the social heap. She's too busy being the captain of the Cheerios and in glee club, and she's only one person, after all.

Santana, for being as incredibly observant as she is, can sometimes be blindsided by the most random things.. and when Quinn walks into her room on Friday night, her arms wrapped around textbooks, Santana looks up, surprised, from her vanity, where she's carefully applying eyeliner, and she knows that this particular situation – although something she should have been keenly aware of and sensitive to – snuck up on her, and she feels totally unprepared for whatever might come of it.

"Are you going out?" Quinn asks, her voice rising in surprise and her eyebrows inching upwards.

"Yes."

And even though she knows, logically, there's nothing wrong with what she's doing – she's single, she's healthy, she's a teenager – something in Santana tenses up when she says it. She knows, without having a reason to know, that this is going to upset Quinn.

"Where?" Quinn's voice is braced with caution, and perplexity, and an underlying vein of hurt that rankles Santana like static electricity along her skin.

"I'm going to…" Santana trails off, contemplates her reflection for a moment, and wonders if Quinn can see the ghosts dancing behind her eyes as well as she can. Santana wonders sometimes what Quinn sees when she looks at her, and if the sight is as hard for her as it is for Santana. "A movie."

"Oh?" Quinn stands in the middle of Santana's room, awkwardly. She hugs the books tighter to her chest and looks at Santana, and for the first time in over a year, Quinn feels like she doesn't belong in this room. She feels the absence of Brittany like an ache, because Brittany could always soothe situations like this.

"Yeah." Santana doesn't continue trying to put makeup on.

"With who?" Quinn looks at her, and she can see the way Santana seems to sigh without actually doing it, the way her body folds and tightens into itself.

"Adam." Santana shrugs.

Quinn wrinkles her eyebrows. "Were you going to tell me?" She looks around the room and even though she's confused, she's beginning to feel the first prickles of anger.

"Uh.." Santana tries to live her life by the philosophy of _never say you're sorry,_ but sometimes – and especially around Brittany, or Quinn – she finds it really hard to stick to her guns on this. "I was going to."

Quinn can tell by the way Santana's eyes are wide that she's lying. "No, you weren't." Her voice is sharp and it crackles in the airspace between them, setting Santana's jaw on edge.

"How do you know?" Santana's words are hard. "Besides, what do you care?"

Quinn's face twists for an instant before she settles on an expression of stoicism, which is enough to make Santana's spine straighten and her fists curl. She feels defensive because she knows she should have told Quinn – Quinn has been coming to her house on Friday nights for weeks now – but something inside of her urges her to ignore the creeping guilt.

Santana watches the say Quinn studies her from the reflection of her mirror, and it takes a moment before Quinn finally says something.

"Why don't we just.. not do this?" Quinn's voice is tired, and there's something like defeat or vulnerability coloring her fairy-light eyes. It makes something in Santana quake and tremble, and she clenches her fists harder together to stop the shake.

"Do what?" Santana can't believe how dry her mouth is, or how her throat feels scratchy and hoarse. She can't bring herself to turn around and face Quinn, so she keeps her back between them.

"Santana." Quinn sounds firm, now, and Santana catches the glimpse of something strong and determined in Quinn's eyes. For some reason, that makes Santana more afraid than the thought of facing Quinn's weak spots. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"

Santana's heart starts jackknifing in her chest, and her eyes widen fractionally before she forces herself to stay steady. "What, Quinn?"

"You know what, Santana." Quinn takes a few more steps into the room, and she puts her pile of textbooks down on Santana's bed. Santana watches Quinn walk up behind her, and her whole body stiffens beneath the weight of Quinn's palm on her shoulder. "Look, I don't know what happened between you and Brittany. But if it's just because you guys never talked about it, well, I'm not letting that happen to us."

Santana feels like everything inside of her is frozen, and she can't breathe or think or react. She just stares at the reflection of Quinn looking down at her head, and the way Quinn's eyes are soft and sharp all at once.

"I don't want you to go on any kind of date with Adam Townsend." Quinn's voice starts out quiet, but it gains momentum the longer she speaks. She flicks her gaze up to meet Santana's in the mirror, but only briefly, before she continues looking down at Santana's hair. "I don't want you to sleep with Puckerman. I want you to stop trying to pretend like this isn't happening."

"Quinn." Santana doesn't know what to say. Her throat is still closed up, and even though her body is immobile, everything inside of her is roiling and seizing up. "I.. what are you even saying?"

Quinn pulls on Santana's shoulder, and the motion makes Santana turn on her vanity bench. Quinn shifts her hand from Santana's shoulder to her knee, and she crouches down so that they are eye-level with one another. It feels like something physical slams into Santana when their gazes meet, and it makes it impossible to breathe.

"I want to be with you, Santana." Quinn says it simply, while looking into Santana's dark eyes. Santana can read the honesty on Quinn's face, and the simple, open way she's looking at Santana makes Santana feel like she's caught up in a twisty vertigo.

"Quinn, what—" Santana struggles to find the words around her racing heart. Her tongue feels like sandpaper and nothing in her body knows how to work right. "I can't.. we can't. We _can't_."

Quinn's eyebrows crinkle on her forehead, and Santana can feel her hand twitch on her knee. She can't take staring at Quinn anymore – it's a little bit like looking into the sun – so she turns her face away, and tries to focus on breathing.

"Why not?"

Santana's lungs hitch, and her fingernails bite into the meat of her hands. "Because we're not _gay,_ Quinn. Are you serious?"

Quinn's eyes darken, and she studies Santana's face even though Santana won't look at her. "Santana.. that's not what this is about."

"Of course it is." Santana can't take it anymore, so she stands up, brushing Quinn aside. She feels impatient and uncomfortable, like her skin is stretched too tight.

"I'm... Santana." Quinn sighs, stands up, and she sees the way that Santana paces in her room with small, agitated steps. "I don't care what you want to call it, or us. We can keep doing what we do now. But I don't want you to go out with Adam."

Santana won't look at Quinn, because it feels like a pressure is expanding and expanding inside of her and it's pushing and squeezing her organs painfully. She doesn't know how to make it stop, but she knows it wouldn't take much to make her crack open and expose everything. "I can't even think about this, Quinn. What you're asking me. What you're implying." Santana runs a nervous, shaky hand through her hair. "I'm still going out with him."

Quinn takes a moment to absorb what Santana said. She realizes that, even though she's done everything imaginable to get to know Santana, she doesn't really know her at all. Santana is many things to Quinn, and right now – more than even the first time they met – she feels like a stranger.

"That's your choice." Quinn's words are brittle and a little bit resigned. It shocks Santana in a way she didn't expect; over the years, they've said some pretty nasty things to one another, but Santana had thought maybe those days were behind them. It isn't the content of her words that strike Santana, though – it's the way Quinn says them, both like Santana disappointed her but that she isn't really surprised at all. "But I'm not.. look, I'm not Brittany. I don't have the patience Brittany has."

Santana shrugs, and cups her elbows with the palms of her hands. She stares at the carpet on her floor and lets Quinn's words wash over her.

"I can't spend years doing this with you – watching you pretend like we're _nothing_ at school, like I'm nothing to you."

"You're not nothing, Quinn," Santana's voice is tight and desperate, and she has to swallow the flood of tears that rise in her throat. "You're my friend."

"Prove I'm not nothing, then." Quinn says, helpless. She ignores the pointed way Santana said friend, because that isn't what this is about, even if Santana would like to make it so. "Cancel your date with Adam. Go on a date with me."

Santana flinches, like the idea actually hurts her. "God, no."

Quinn swallows and turns her head away, because even though Santana's back is to her, she doesn't want to chance that Santana will see how immediately her eyes filled with tears. "Okay, then."

She walks over to Santana's bed and picks up her textbooks, and her limbs feel wooden and her body feels hollow.

"Where are you going? Q, don't.. don't just leave." Santana turns, and she catches the glimpse of Quinn's face – and something that looked like watermarks down her cheeks – before Quinn shakes her head and heads towards the door.

"No, Santana. I'm not doing this with you." Her voice is remarkably steady, given the way hot tears leak from the corners of her eyes. "I'm not putting myself through that torture. You know how I feel.. and I guess I know how you feel, too."

"Quinn.."

But before Santana can think of anything to say, the door whispers closed behind Quinn with a quiet click.

And, with a sinking sensation, Santana begins to realize that she's utterly alone now.

* * *

Quinn gives Santana a few days to change her mind.

She doesn't exactly tell Santana this, but Quinn thinks – hopes – that Santana will find a way to talk to her, will reconsider. It's a desperate wish that Quinn clings to, when she grows lonelier and lonelier and she notices the dozen or more small instances throughout the day that she would normally reach for Santana, only to find her across the room pretending Quinn doesn't exist.

Brittany catches her attention more frequently in the next week, and Quinn sees her own sadness reflected back at her in Brittany's cobalt eyes. Brittany smiles and laughs and sits in Artie's lap, but when Quinn turns towards the empty space at her side that once held Santana, most often, it's Brittany's face looking at her from across the room.

Quinn realizes that Santana has no intention of talking to her. In fact, Santana seems to have withdrawn and grown harder and more brittle than ever before, and something about her face is constantly tight and angry. Her eyes flash and scorch, and people stay away from her. The girls in the Cheerios squad avoid her like the plague, and Quinn can see the way Santana is unraveling.

Quinn catches Brittany alone in the locker room one day, and her heart hurts because she misses the short, hot summer nights when the three of them laid tangled together like a pride of lions, suffering the heavy heat in silence and each other's company. She misses Santana, but maybe even more than that she misses Brittany, and Quinn doesn't know when or why things got the way they did so suddenly.

"Why are you dating Artie?" Quinn's voice is low and quiet in the locker room. Brittany closes her locker slowly and then gradually draws her gaze towards Quinn, who is standing with her shoulder supporting her against the wall. "We never talked about it, and I'm curious to know why."

Brittany shrugs, tugs her hair out of its ponytail, and then begins to refasten it into one. "He's sweet and cute. He's funny." She throws a glance at Quinn and a brief, sad smile flits over her face. "He's not afraid to hold my hand in public."

Quinn nods, and presses her lips together. She looks down at the cracked linoleum and remembers the feeling of Santana's fingers weaving through her hair, and Brittany's fingers tucked into her palms. She's startled, but only a little bit, to find Brittany has moved across the room to stand directly in front of her. She looks up into Brittany's eyes and that old familiar knocking starts in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I did try to tell you."

Quinn nods, and she finds her throat closing on the words she wants to say. She's surprised by the way Brittany closes the distance between them to press one solid, soft kiss against her lips. Brittany holds her face close to Quinn's and Quinn revels in the smell of her – like crushed peaches – and the texture of her lips, and the rhythm of her breath and how everything inside of her seems to glow whenever Brittany is this close to her. She inhales, heart fluttering, but before she has a chance to react properly, Brittany is pulling away. Her eyes are like oceans and Quinn wonders what exactly Brittany is thinking, but she can't even hazard a guess. Brittany leans forward and kisses her forehead, and then her cheek.

"I love you, you know," Brittany says quietly, and she lifts her hand to stroke her thumb down Quinn's jaw.

Her eyes glaze with tears, and so Quinn just blinks and nods, biting her lips. It's instantaneous, the effect that hearing Brittany say those words has on her – how much her heart yearns to believe it.

It scares her, how much she wants it.

Brittany stands there, patient, and so Quinn swallows and lets out a heavy breath. "I love you too, Brittany."

Brittany's smile is small and warm, and it makes Quinn smile back at her, even with tears pooling in her eyes. She blinks, trying to banish them, and Brittany swipes at the tiny droplets that creep down her cheeks, erasing them.

"I don't know when things got so complicated." Quinn says.

"Everything is only as complicated as you make it." Brittany says with a shrug.

Xxxx

Quinn decides to make everything very complicated.

She talks to Sam Evans in front of Santana at lunch one day, and she doesn't miss the way Santana's eyes snap into focus when she sits down next to him.

The next day, she spends the entire time in glee club smiling and laughing at Sam, who looks at her with that same expression he's always had, and she catches Santana crossing her arms and openly fuming from behind the risers. The thought niggles and blooms inside her mind, and so the next day, she stops Sam on his way home, in the deserted hallways, and asks him to dinner.

The dopey, excited look on Sam's face makes Quinn smile, and she watches him fist-pump and jog away like he's just won some kind of award.

Quinn understands what Brittany means about Artie. She's not so sure how it came about, but when their first date turns into a second and a third, and she lets Sam hold her hand and kiss her, it does feel nice.

It's nothing at all like it is with Santana or Brittany, but it's nice.

And Sam holds her in class, and walks her down the halls. He grins at her like he can't believe she's his.

She knows she started it as a ploy to get Santana jealous – maybe the same motivation Brittany had with Artie, who knows? – but eventually, Quinn finds herself liking Sam. He's just the sort of thing that Quinn needs; not too hot (like Santana) or too cold (also like Santana), a person who is just stable enough to help keep her grounded.

"What do you think you're doing, Fabray?"

Quinn never forgets that she always has Santana's dark eyes on her, especially whenever Sam is around, but she is a little bit surprised that Santana went out of her way to corner her in the corridor between fourth and fifth period. Santana never speaks to Quinn, if she can avoid it.

"I'm sorry?" Quinn tries not to stare at Santana, and how everything about her is a contradiction; her angry face, soft lips, hard words. Santana is too much overstimulation when Quinn has gotten too used to the blandness of Sam.

"With him? What do you think you're doing?" Santana's voice is hot and demanding, and Quinn watches the way Santana's curly ponytail bobs when Santana's head jerks.

"Dating him?" Quinn tries to keep her voice neutral. She doesn't want to cause any kind of scene in the hallway.

Santana scoffs, her lips curl in a sneer, and the expression makes Quinn's heart twist. She can't stand having anyone – but particularly Santana – look at her that way. She turns her face to stare at the wall.

"How can you even do that? You love Brittany," Santana says, and the words grate at Quinn like sandpaper. "And just a few weeks ago, you—"

"Yeah, Santana, I did." Quinn is startled by the force of her own words, and by the looks of her, Santana is too. But something dark and dangerous jostles beneath Quinn's skin, something a lot like _anger, _and it feels good and awful at the same time. Santana's eyes widen and her lips go slack, and it gives Quinn the encouragement she needs. "I asked you, and you turned me down. So what if I'm dating Sam now?"

Santana's eyes dart between each of Quinn's, and the quick, stuttered movement makes Quinn feel like she's spinning. "You love Brittany," Santana whispers.

Quinn just shakes her head and closes her eyes, fighting back a sigh. "You always miss the point, Santana."

Santana's face scrunches up in confusion, and Quinn almost swears that she sees glassiness in Santana's eyes. "What is the point?"

Quinn studies Santana's face for a moment. "You."

For the second time in as many weeks, Quinn leaves Santana staring after her, lost for words.

* * *

Even though she knows Santana brought it on herself – the way she pushes away everyone closest to her – Quinn can't help but feel like maybe she should have tried to be more understanding. The next few weeks pass, and she sees the way Santana seems to grow smaller and quieter. Brittany looks at Santana, and then at Quinn, and it makes her stomach tie in hard knots. She wants to relent, and give Santana some kind of comfort or company, but the resolute look on Brittany's face stops her.

Quinn doesn't pretend to know all of Brittany's reasons, but she knows that Brittany is playing some kind of game that Quinn is not privy to. She can only hope that she's doing the right thing by taking Brittany's lead.

Sam is sweet, and Sam is funny, and she does like him. But she can't stop thinking about Santana. Her heart squeezes and aches whenever she sees Santana alone in the corner of the room, like an outsider looking in. She wants to crawl onto Brittany's lap and hide her face in the curtain of Brittany's hair, because Brittany has a way of soothing Quinn's hurts. But the three of them have boxed themselves in, and Quinn feels like she can't make a move. She looks helplessly to the other two for some kind of prompt for what might happen next.

She expected it to be Brittany who changed the game, just as it has been Brittany at practically every turn.

Like so many times before, she's wrong.

Santana catches her off guard (again) in the auditorium after a dance practice for glee. Quinn is stretching, with a leg on the piano, and she can feel the way her muscles burn and tug beneath her skin. The others are gone, to get ice cream or shower. Quinn had said goodbye to Sam, who wanted to go for a walk in the park (which was really his sweet, dufus way of asking her to make out with him), but she declined. Quinn had felt sort of sad and reserved all day, and even Sam's sunny disposition couldn't distract her from it.

She doesn't exactly know what is happening, because one moment she's lost in thought staring backstage, and the next moment she's being ripped away from the support of the piano. She stutters and gasps, and if it weren't for the strong hands that steadied her, she would have plummeted to the floor.

"What-?" Quinn has only a moment to notice a blur of dark hair and slanted midnight eyes before Santana's mouth is hot on hers, and Quinn's whole body tightens in response. She loosens a strangled gasp, and her hands wind their way into Santana's hair, while the other girl's lips bruise and her teeth nip and tongue lick. Quinn has no time to think, so she only feels, and kissing Santana like this – one of those brutal, hot, wet kisses that steals Quinn's breath and accelerates her heartbeat, making everything inside of her one giant throb – feels like a long drink of water after a parched and thirsty day.

Santana's hands slide up from her waist and then frame her face, and her skin feels like a brand. Quinn's jaw works to push her tongue into Santana's mouth, and for once, Santana seems to welcome it, drawing it in again and again, while her own tongue flashes and dances inside Quinn's mouth. It might be the deepest kiss they've ever had, and Quinn's belly flutters and her head spins, and she thinks that approximately twenty seconds ago she lost the ability to breathe.

Santana breaks their kiss, and they're both panting and gasping. Quinn opens her eyes slowly, with her fingers still tangled in Santana's hair, and she's surprised to find Santana looking at her. There's a strange quality to her eyes, something – Quinn can't put a finger on it, but it isn't what she expects. She thought to see heat and passion and a ferocity that is Santana's trademark; instead it's something almost subdued, maybe even tinged with regret.

The look makes Quinn bite her lip, which is swollen and warm, and she tries to keep Santana close. But Santana pulls away, and before Quinn knows it, no part of Santana's body is touching hers. She can feel the memory of Santana like a tangible thing against her skin, and at the same time, she feels her absence like a physical ache. Everything inside of her is too hot, and it makes everything outside of her feel too cold.

"Santana?" Quinn doesn't even know what questions to ask, because it was so unexpected. Perhaps she shouldn't be so very surprised – Santana isn't the kind of person to play by any rules. Quinn doubts Santana has any idea of the game Brittany has put them in, but she knows Santana realizes what she's doing in regards to her and Sam.

Santana doesn't look at her again, or say anything. But she stands by the lip of the stage with her arms casually crossed, and eventually Quinn realizes that Santana is waiting for her. Quinn feels more perplexed and confused than she has in a long while, but she decides to acquiesce to Santana – when has she ever not, really? – and she slowly picks up her backpack, adjusting it on her shoulder. She takes a few hesitant steps, and Santana stays motionless until Quinn draws level with her. And then Santana begins to walk, always staying just a half-step ahead of Quinn, close enough so that it would be obvious to anyone else that they're together – but far enough apart that Quinn has no hope of touching her.

Santana walks Quinn to her car, and for a brief, giddy moment, Quinn thinks Santana might get in. Her heart quivers with the idea, but it fades quickly when she catches a glimpse of the look on Santana's face. She can't describe it, but it's the coldest, most withdrawn expression she's ever seen. It makes everything inside of Quinn uneasy, and so (because she was the one who started this complicated mess) she doesn't say anything when Santana walks towards her own car, in the back of the empty parking lot. Quinn just watches Santana, and wonders.

* * *

The symptoms take less than twenty-four hours to kick in. Quinn's throat swells, and her tonsils hurt. She feels achy and lightheaded by lunchtime, and Brittany gives her a concerned look when she misses her step during Cheerios practice. Quinn brushes it off, but by midmorning the next day, she's feeling feverish and it hurts to swallow.

"It's mono," The nurse informs her glumly.

Quinn's too ashamed to tell anyone, so she checks herself out of school without another word.

It takes two days before anyone comes to see her, and by that time, she's so miserable she can't even get out of bed. Every part of her is sweaty and clammy, and she lives on orange juice and antibiotics. Her mother can't coax her into eating anything, because everything hurts. Quinn sleeps in her room with her curtains drawn and her mind circles on Santana Lopez and that look of sad distance in her eyes.

"I'm sorry you're sick," Brittany's voice, quiet and still, breaks the hush of Quinn's bedroom. She peeks over the edge of her comforter and tries not to groan at how perfect Brittany looks – pressed Cheerios uniform, hair glossy and healthy-looking, her makeup un-smudged – and at how deeply hideous she must appear: damp, unkempt hair a crazy mess about her face, her skin flushed and hot, her lips chapped.

"I think Santana gave me mono," Quinn whispers, both because the idea cuts into her like a scalpel, dissecting her heart, and because her vocal chords are encased in mucus.

Brittany wanders over to stand by the edge of Quinn's bed, and Quinn closes her eyes against the feeling of Brittany swooping the hair away from her face. "I brought you chicken noodle soup."

Quinn glances upwards, curious, and then cracks her first smile in days at the sight of Brittany clutching an aluminum can of Campbell's chicken noodle. "Thank you," She whispers.

"Here, sit up and eat it." Brittany gently pulls Quinn's covers down, and with a little bit of encouragement, she has Quinn sitting upright and propped against her pillows. Quinn's head is stuffy and dizzy, but she does what Brittany asks.

"Like this? Cold?" Quinn handles the can that Brittany gave her, staring at the red and white label. "I don't get a bowl, or crackers or anything?"

Brittany smiles, and with one hand wrapped around Quinn's to hold it steady, she uses the other to pop the lid off the can. Quinn flinches, afraid that the cold, greasy liquid will slosh out, but Brittany is careful. "Yeah, try it. It's good."

Quinn makes a face, but she brings it to her lips. The first few sips are slippery and too salty, but eventually she manages to get a mouthful of noodles. The eager way Brittany watches her makes her smile, so she chews and swallows and goes for another gulp.

"Next time I'll bring crackers," Brittany promises, and she takes the half-empty can away from Quinn. Then she leans forward and kisses the salt and grease from Quinn's lips, and it makes Quinn jolt.

"Britt, no, you'll get sick," Quinn protests, and she doesn't know what to make of all these kisses she's been getting lately.

"No, I don't think so." Brittany shrugs, sets the can on Quinn's dresser, and then crawls over Quinn's legs to slide into bed next to her. "I got mono once. It's like the chicken pox, right?"

Quinn looks over at Brittany, and after a minute she just shrugs. "I don't know."

Brittany smiles. "Me either."

It makes Quinn laugh, and it doesn't even hurt.

Brittany comes by every day after school, and she doesn't always bring a can of chicken noodle soup. Once it was stew, another time tomato – which Quinn outright refused to try cold – and even once some tortilla, which Quinn couldn't get to come out of the can without a spoon.

Quinn wants to ask Brittany about school, about Santana, about Artie. Quinn craves to understand the things going on between Brittany and Santana (and her, too?) that lie underneath the surface. Part of her is dying to know, but another part is too afraid of the answers.

What if the answer is _nothing?_ What if Quinn has imagined that Brittany has any kind of master plan, and that all she's been doing is creating chaos without any real reason to?

So instead she lets Brittany lie in bed with her while her body slowly heals, and they watch muted sitcoms on Quinn's television. Quinn holds Brittany's hands in hers, and runs the pads of her fingers over Brittany's knuckles, and sometimes Brittany uses her long, strong fingers to rub the tension out of Quinn's shoulders.

"I missed this," Quinn sighs, one night after Brittany convinced her to eat icecream (peanut butter cup) and watch _Lilo & Stitch_. They lie in bed beneath Quinn's blankets and Quinn doesn't hesitate to slide against Brittany, tucking her head in the hollow of Brittany's neck. She feels Britt's arms slide against her ribs and drape across her back, and she tucks one of her feet in between both of Brittany's. "I missed you."

"I did, too," Brittany murmurs, and she draws a hand down the long, curly length of Quinn's hair. "You can go back to school soon."

Quinn hums, and rests her nose along the curve of Brittany's neck. She can hear the swimming sound of Brittany's blood in her veins and the soft rhythm of her breathing, and she doesn't want to think about anything outside of this.

Brittany is quiet for a while, and Quinn thinks about drifting off inside Brittany's arms. It's something she's never done before, and she wonders what it would be like to wake up with just Brittany's face next to hers.

"I told you, it doesn't have to be complicated," Brittany says quietly, and it rouses Quinn.

Quinn blinks, trying to banish the sleep-shadows from her eyes, but everything is hazy and she is too full of the scent and sound of Brittany to think. "I know," Quinn nudges her lips against Brittany's neck and leaves a small, delicate kiss there. "But everything is complicated."

Brittany sighs, and it sounds sad, which is enough to have Quinn shifting and trying to draw away, so she can take a look at Brittany's face. But Brittany's arms hold her firm, and her hand continues to stroke down her hair.

"You and Santana both, you're the same," Brittany's voice sounds a little bit more like sorrow, and Quinn wants nothing more than to reach out and soothe whatever it was that made Brittany feel that way.

"I don't understand, Britt." Quinn doesn't want to understand it, either – she cares about Santana, but for Brittany to be saying that they're the same is a little bit insulting. Quinn isn't the one hiding from a stupid label. Quinn would have done anything to find her happiness with Santana, or Brittany, or both of them. "I don't think we're the same at all." She shifts, and nuzzles her face further into Brittany's neck. "I don't want to be like her."

Brittany nods, and her chest rises and expands on another sigh. "Maybe one day you won't be."

Quinn is baffled, and she frowns. "What do you mean?"

When Brittany doesn't say anything, Quinn tries to find the meaning behind her words. "Britt, what about Artie? I mean—are you –"

Brittany just shakes her head, and the movement causes Quinn to fall silent. "Just go to sleep, Quinn."

Quinn bites her lip, and a million questions flit and flutter inside her mind. She has no idea what Brittany is implying; Brittany likening her to Santana because why? Quinn would never – she would never say no to Brittany. Not about anything. Certainly not about _that._

The desire to find out what exactly Brittany means beats in her chest, just like the dream that's lived in her heart since the summer. Images dance in her mind, of Christmas spent with Brittany, of kissing Britt on New Year's beneath fluttering lights, of walking down the sidewalk, riotous with spring flowers, hand-in-hand. Laughter and lazy days and nights full of love, of cuddling and kissing beneath the sheets. It seems like a storybook fantasy. Her heart yearns for it more than she could begin to name.

Fear lives inside of Quinn, just as readily as hope, and this time – for some reason – it wins. So instead of saying those things, she mutters, "Will you be here when I wake up?"

Brittany shifts against her and pulls their bodies even closer together, so that Quinn's ribs struggle with the effort to breathe. "Yes."

* * *

**A/N:** Hey guys! Sorry for the wait. My life is getting busier and busier lately.

I love everyone's response to this, I'm so flattered and grateful. Thank you for every review, follow, and favorite.

If you want to know more about me or this story, follow me on Tumblr!

Sorry if this chapter is a little rough, I struggled a little bit with it. Let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

"What do you mean, you're breaking up with me?"

Sam shrugs, and the look on his face is hard and angry. The expression is one Quinn isn't familiar with; she's too used to seeing his wide pink lips spread in a happy grin, saying words to her that make her feel a little bit like he actually cares about her. She's gotten used to watching his face light up whenever she enters a room, the way his hand darts between them, seeking to sandwich their fingers together. She wasn't expecting him to stand so far apart from her, his shoulders squared, with a look that's a mixture between sullen pain and anger twisting his features.

"Santana told me, all right?" Sam's words are sharp, and louder than Quinn imagined they would be. They shock Quinn with the same force of having cold water splashed on her: all her muscles freeze, her heart drops, and she hears a thundering in her ears.

"Yeah, and you just confirmed it." Sam stares at her and then his face contorts in a sneer, and Quinn's cheeks immediately flush with shame. She tucks her lips into her mouth and looks away, towards the flat gray painted walls of the choir room.

She can't believe Santana _told_ Sam.

Wait. "What exactly did she tell you?" Quinn glances at Sam, and for the first time she feels a prickle of anger form in her gut.

"She told me how you got mono," Sam spits the words at Quinn, and even though they feel like venom, Quinn doesn't balk from them.

"No, what did she say?" The steel that lives inside of Quinn, which always surfaces at the most surprising times, makes her voice steady and sharp and glinting with warning. Sam's eyes widen fractionally, and she can tell he wasn't prepared for her to show any kind of strength.

"She told me she saw you making out with that – that kid on the basketball team! He's out with mono, too!" Sam's fists clench, and his skin on his neck turns dappled red, like something about this embarrasses him.

Quinn stands, stunned, staring at Sam, but not really seeing him. She's reliving the moment in the auditorium, when it felt like Santana was trying to devour her, and the heat between was scorching. Her lips tingle and buzz from the memory, and she reaches up a bewildered fingertip to touch the edge of them.

It takes Sam shuffling awkwardly in the room to remind her that she isn't alone, and that _this_ – this is what Santana was aiming for with that kiss. Quinn had spent the last few weeks in her sickbed trying to understand, to unravel the mystery behind Santana's enigmatic actions.

Well, mystery solved.

"That bitch," Quinn mutters, and she shakes her head. "I can't believe it."

"Why? Because Santana told me the truth? I'm glad someone did."

Quinn can see past Sam's shield of anger, the way his words are raw and edgy. Her heart, an already damaged thing, splinters with another crack at the look of pain on his face. "Sam, it's not—that didn't—"

"No, Quinn, don't. I've heard all about you, okay?" Sam's voice breaks, and Quinn feels her eyes filling with tears. "I've heard about how you cheat on all of your boyfriends. I just didn't want to believe it."

They're old wounds, so the ache is dull and familiar, but it still hurts. She knows there was no way she'd outrun those mistakes, but she didn't expect them to be slapped in her face by Sam Evans.

It only makes it worse that it was Santana who facilitated this - Santana, a person Quinn trusted.

That is a new kind of pain, and it blooms in her chest, hot and ragged. It curls around her lungs and sears her heart, and Quinn feels like she can't breathe or think.

Quinn has had many points in her life that she believed would break her. She's always surprised herself by rising above and moving past the things that would cripple her; but this – this is the closest she's ever come to shattering.

Sam spends another moment watching her, but in the end, she has nothing to say to him. Quinn has always known that Sam was just a means to an end for her, though she envisioned a very different end. When the door whispers closed behind him, she feels hollow, like the rage that started behind her breastbone spread to all of her organs, incinerating them.

* * *

A week later, Santana is sitting in Sam's lap in glee club, and the sight makes the cavity in Quinn's chest fill with more anger than she's ever had before.

She follows them out when the club is over, and just the sight of Santana holding hands with Sam makes Quinn's jaw clench in fury. They're in the parking lot before Sam diverts towards the football field for late practice, and Santana makes her way towards her car. Quinn continues following her until she's certain they're alone, and then she speeds up and snatches a hand out to grasp Santana's shoulder, spinning her roughly around.

"What the-?" Santana starts, and the look on her face changes quickly from fierceness to surprise, and Quinn has a moment to absorb the vulnerability reflected in Santana's eyes.

It lasts only a split second, though, before Santana's mask is in place, guarding her against Quinn.

"How could you do that, Santana?" Quinn knows she's yelling, but she doesn't care. Santana doesn't flinch, except for a ripple of emotion across her face, and even though Quinn doesn't want to see it, it seems a lot like shame to her.

"Why do you care? It's not like you loved him." Santana crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her head, arching an eyebrow at Quinn, challenging her to contradict.

"That's not the point!" Quinn wants to _hit_ something. Never before in her life has she had such an urge to strike out and completely destroy something. "We aren't those people, Santana! We don't hurt each other like this!"

Santana's face wrinkles, and then her own fire flares, spitting and straining behind her eyes. She seems so poised, but Quinn can see her knuckles whitening where they grip her arms. "You hurt me, I hurt you."

Quinn and Santana are both surprised by Santana's words, because both of them pause and stare, suspended in the moment, both caught off guard by the casual honesty that fell so effortlessly from Santana's lips.

Quinn recovers first, and she closes her mouth, pressing her lips together, before she shakes her head. "You still don't get it, do you? You hurt me first, Santana. I wanted to be with _you_. But you told me no!"

Santana looks away from Quinn, glancing around to make sure they don't have an audience. She finally turns her gaze on Quinn, and her eyes are almost black, too dark to see into. "The point is, you only dated Sam to punish me. Well, let's see how you like it, Q."

Quinn doesn't offer any more argument as Santana finally turns, brushing her aside, and then unlocks her car door. Quinn watches Santana slide inside and doesn't balk when the engine starts, or when Santana peels away. Quinn watches Santana leave, and though in the past it has always left her feeling sad, lonely, and bereft, now she just burns with fury. It needles under her skin and ignites along her bones, searing the core of her; and the feeling is both bright and dark all at once.

* * *

Santana can't see through the red haze of rage that distorts everything at the edge of her vision; she certainly can't see reason, or even have the foresight to understand the consequences. All she knows is that she's so angry it's like a volcano inside of her, and she's helpless to resist the path it takes her, straight up to an unsuspecting Quinn. She feels, honestly, like she has no control over it; if she doesn't find some way to release the fury, it's going to destroy her – so she lashes out, palms colliding into Quinn's back with enough force to send the other girl flying into the lockers with a harsh, jangling clang.

"You did this to me!" Santana spits. "You told Coach Sylvester about my summer surgery!"

Quinn, who turned around to face Santana, is looking at her with the kind of anger and disgust Santana never expected from her. It startles her – but it invokes an immediately defensive reaction, rather than a submissive one, and she's more infuriated than before. She's ready when Quinn shoves her back, though it only has a fraction of the force. Santana edges in, and they're nearly toe-to-toe with one another.

"You have a surgery when you have your appendix out." Quinn's words are clear and precise, and the look of superiority on her face rankles Santana. "You got a boob job!"

"Yep, sure did!" Santana doesn't know where it came from – her arm cocks back and then her palm is swinging forward, landing with a solid smack on Quinn's cheek. Santana's never slapped anyone before, and even she is a bit astonished by it.

Quinn is, too, and she swings around to glare at Santana with incredulity. "You can't hit me!"

"Sure I can! Unless you got yourself knocked up again, slut!"

Santana has no idea where such bile is _coming from,_ but it's already out, the words snaking up her throat and out of her mouth with dark conviction. She doesn't even have a moment to reflect on it, because Quinn is sneering and then grabbing her by the shoulders, spinning her around and slamming her into the lockers. Santana doesn't feel pain on the impact, only a flare of rage; and she's sliding forward to knock into Quinn's shoulders with the meat of her palms again. She doesn't know who starts the hitting, but they're raining open-handed blows on one another in a rapid, staccato frenzy.

When Quinn grips her hair and slams her against the lockers again, Santana screeches and uses Quinn's own momentum to hurtle her to the ground. She's poised on the balls of her feet, ready for Quinn to retaliate – and she would have, because it takes no time for her to spring upright – but Brittany, out of nowhere, darts in between them and pushes a palm solidly against Santana's chest, flailing the other one out at Quinn.

Quinn halts, but just barely, and the raw and savage fury on her face makes a cold ball form in Santana's gut. It's such a contrast to the hot, burning anger that it makes Santana's breath hitch, and she's afraid for the first time since she stumbled out of Sue Sylvester's office that she's done something irreparable. Santana has seen Quinn mad, but she's never seen her lose control like this, and it makes Santana's heart stutter and flip uneasily.

"Stop the violence," Brittany intones, with a pointed look at Quinn and then towards Santana. She can't hold Brittany's gaze for long, and so she takes a step back and folds her arms, cocking her head towards Quinn.

Quinn is breathing deep and her face is red, and by the way her fingers curl into helpless fists, Santana can tell Quinn is only a moment away from launching herself forward. By some force, whether it be willpower or (Santana thinks more likely) the love of Brittany, Quinn stands in place, glaring, but doesn't move. The tension is thick between the three of them, and Santana can feel the silence shifting and buzzing with things unspoken. It makes her uncomfortable, and it takes only a second more before she's scoffing and turning on her heel to march away.

She's blind to the crowd of people who have stopped to stare at them, the three most popular cheerleaders having a quarrel in the hallway like a group of steroidal hockey players, but she still somehow hears the faint murmur of Brittany's voice over the mumbling swarm, and Quinn's husky response. Santana can't make out the words, but the tone is enough to have her throat closing and tightening, and she blinks back the thick tears pooling behind her eyelids. It happened in a flash – she traded hot rage for burning shame, and something else, some viscous emotion that swims in her ribcage and clutches at her heart, but that she can't find a name for, because it stings and aches, a lot like pain, and it throbs a lot like longing – and Santana doesn't let herself think about it.

Santana maintains her composure long enough to clear the students who still linger in a loose ring, facing the center of the hallway where Brittany and Quinn are. When she rounds a corner into a nearly deserted corridor, she stifles a sob, using the reddened flesh of her palm to muffle the sound against.

Even though she didn't see it with her eyes, in her mind she relives the moment when Brittany went to Quinn and comforted her, and the thought that Santana had been the reason for it makes it feel like something is tearing her apart from the inside out. It's another nameless emotion that's too many rolled into one to even begin dissecting, but she knows that it's ragged and torturous.

She struggles weakly to breathe, but her lungs are too full of tears, and her steps are hesitant and faltering the harder she cries. Santana hates the idea of breaking down here, in such a public place, but she has no control; just as she couldn't stop her arms from lashing out at Quinn before, she can't cease the choking, burning sobs that rip from her.

Santana starts when she feels strong, sure hands grip her around her waist, and her first instinct is to flee – she tries to surge forward, but the hands hold her firm, and in the next instant she's caught up in someone's arms. It takes her a brief moment to realize that it's Brittany holding her, but once she does, the last of the fight drains out of her, and she's turning to press her face desperately into Brittany's neck, not caring about the black streaks of makeup that will surely stain Brittany's uniform.

It's been so long since Santana felt Brittany's body against hers, she had almost forgotten how good it felt, or how well they fit together, like the most perfect puzzle pieces. Brittany's long fingers stroke soothing trails down Santana's lopsided ponytail, and though she knows that it's meant to comfort, it almost has the opposite effect – making Santana weep more hysterically, her arms sliding around to hug Brittany urgently. Santana doesn't know where this flood has come from, but she's unable to stop it, despite the comforting murmurs and familiar form of Brittany.

It takes several long minutes before Santana can breathe, and by then Brittany's cheer top is a wet ruin, and Santana's face is puffy and splotched. She knows she should be mortified to be doing this in a hallway where anyone could see, but the thrumming of Brittany's heartbeat seems to make those types of worries drift away. She sniffles thickly, and raises a hand to wipe the mascara trail away from her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Brittany whispers, once Santana has gone quiet. Santana really doesn't feel okay – she feels like she's on the edge of crumbling, and the sheer strength of Brittany is the only thing holding her together.

Santana only nods, because she knows it's the answer Brittany is looking for. She knows, too, that she should pull away and find a bathroom to fix her hair and makeup in, find a task to distract her from the overwhelming shame and hurt and indignation that vibrate inside her with growing intensity, but she can't force herself to draw away from Brittany, not yet.

She knows that Brittany wants to ask her about the fight with Quinn, the discussion with Coach Sylvester, her status as head Cheerio, everything. Santana can sense the way curiosity thrums inside of Brittany, but she's grateful that Brittany doesn't actually voice her questions. She's too weak right now to think about reasons, too wearied to come up with lies or excuses. In this moment, Brittany might get the truth from her, and Santana doesn't know what she would do in the aftermath of that.

Instead, Brittany is silent, and Santana is still enough to hear the blood whishing through Brittany's veins, and the quiet whisper of her breathing, and she closes her eyes to savor the smell of Brittany that is always better in reality than it is in memory, even though it's a part of all of Santana's memories.

Brittany finally shifts, putting space between their bodies, and Santana looks up tentatively, not sure what she'll see when she looks into Brittany's eyes. They're the same as they've always been, blue with flecks of gold, and cat-wise, however neutral or reserved Brittany's face may be. A small smile tugs at the corners of Brittany's lips, though it's tinged with sadness. Santana hiccups on one last, shivery sob when Brittany's thumb skims up and over her cheekbone, wiping at the mess of her face.

It takes a moment, but Santana realizes they can't be seen like this – silent and staring into each other's eyes, with their arms around each other. She flicks a worried glance around the hallway and then peels herself away from Brittany. Brittany's face flickers and darkens, but then settles on resignation, and she doesn't resist Santana pulling away.

She does reach out, and Santana blinks at the sudden motion, but before she has time to react, Brittany's snaking her pinky through Santana's. "Come on," Brittany demurs, and she's leading Santana towards the nearest bathroom. Santana's legs are heavy and unsteady, but with Brittany guiding her, she doesn't fall.

* * *

Things are better for a little while, and Quinn thinks it might be because she resumed captaincy of the Cheerios. Even though Sue makes Santana's life harder, her wrath is still not the same kind of tense pressure that being on top can be. Quinn doesn't know how she shrugs so effortlessly back into that role, but she does, and even though the three of them rarely have a real conversation, Quinn finds her gravitating towards them more often than not. They sit together at lunch, and even though Quinn has to grit her teeth occasionally because of Sam on Santana's left or Artie to Brittany's right, she tolerates it in order to be close to them. They stand together during glee practice and spot each other in the gym while doing cartwheels and tumbles, and it's almost, almost like it used to be.

She wonders if it will ever go back to being like it was entirely, but Quinn doesn't hope for it; hoping for something so beautiful is only painful, in the end.

Eventually they begin to spend time outside of school together, at shopping trips to the mall or the occasional movie, and their conversations come more easily. At least the ones between her and Brittany do, flowing with thoughtless simplicity; Santana stays a bit back and more reserved, except for biting comments, but it's more than Quinn expected, so she's happy for it.

It surprises her when her cell phone lights up on a Friday night, after she's already showered and changed into her pajamas, with Santana's name flashing on the screen. Quinn can't remember the last time Santana called her, but she doesn't hesitate to bring it to her ear.

"Hello," Quinn says.

"Hey, blondie. What are you doing?"

Quinn glances around her room. "About to do some homework."

"Lame." Santana pauses, and Quinn wonders what brought on this forced casualness from her. "So, Berry's throwing a party tonight. You in?"

Quinn studies the cuticle on her thumb and wonders what actual question Santana is asking, underneath the obvious one. "I suppose."

"Okay." Santana sounds slightly pleased, and Quinn can't begin to understand why.

"I'll need you to text me her address, so I can put it in my GPS." Quinn feels very confounded by this conversation, but she's taking Santana's lead and trying to act unfazed.

"How about I just pick you up, Q?"

Quinn blinks in surprise, and tries not to let it show in her voice. "Sure."

"I'll be there in about an hour."

Quinn stutters. "Santana, that isn't enough time—"

"Bye, Q! Be ready!"

Quinn scowls down at her screen as it beeps, indicating the call ending.

She isn't sure how she does it, but she manages to have her hair curled and her makeup done by the time Santana's honking at her front door. She hisses in irritation, but decides to hurry down her stairs and out the door before her mother has a chance to comment on Santana's rude behavior. She trots up to Santana's car door, huffing, and goes to yank on the door handle before she realizes Brittany's face is grinning back at her from the passenger seat. She feels a bewildered, wide smile plaster itself on her face, and she shifts to open the back door.

The car ride to Rachel's house is drowned out in Santana's choice of music, which she listens to too loudly to allow for any kind of verbal exchange, but Quinn feels lightheaded from the sheer amount of happiness pouring from Santana and Brittany. They're grinning at each other and tossing flirty looks back at Quinn, and it makes her feel like maybe she dropped into some better, parallel universe.

When they get out of the car, Brittany takes Quinn's hand in hers and she's rushing towards Rachel's front door, which is already open to allow in Puck and Finn, who are struggling to carry Artie through the threshold.

"You should just pick him up, and fold the chair," Brittany says, once they've reached the four of them. Both Finn and Puck look at Brittany with dumbfounded expressions, but then Rachel starts nattering and Finn reaches down to scoop Artie up beneath the legs and around his shoulders.

Brittany doesn't let go of Quinn's hand, but she does nudge forward to press a delicate kiss against Artie's cheek. Quinn watches, and doesn't miss the dark, irritated look he throws at Brittany, but Brittany seems oblivious. She pulls Quinn past Puck, who is fiddling with the latches and pulls on Artie's wheel chair, into Rachel's house.

Quinn wonders if Brittany's spent any time at Rachel's before, because she leads Quinn – and further back, Santana – into the living room as if she knows the layout well. Quinn only has a moment to absorb the décor before Rachel shouts out, "In the basement!" and Brittany's tugging her forward, past a modest kitchen and dining room, and then through a doorway and down some stairs.

Quinn actually likes Rachel's basement, even though it's admittedly a bit over the top (what else, of Rachel Berry?). She isn't impressed when Rachel (and Finn, Puck and Artie) finally joins them and tries to press a sweating wine cooler into her hand. Quinn makes a face at it, because it's the same brand and flavor that Puck supplied the night she got pregnant. Quinn can't stand the taste of them anymore, so she gives hers to Brittany.

Before long, the basement is full of people, and Puck breaks the lock on Rachel's dads' liquor cabinet. He doesn't even ask, just mixes her a drink with rum and coke and too few ice cubs, and Quinn wants to be annoyed, but can't find it in herself to be. Mercedes is laughing and Tina is singing off-key into her red cup, and Rachel is making a fool of herself with Finn, so there's enough to keep her distracted from the fact that Puck knows her drink, and went out of his way to fix it for her.

Santana took little time once Sam arrived to sequester herself with him, and even Brittany is entertaining Artie, so Quinn has to amuse herself with the way Blaine is dancing and Kurt is trying to look less awkward and more suave.

"Spin the bottle!" Rachel calls out, and Quinn tries to escape, but both Santana and Brittany emerge out of nowhere to grasp her by the wrists and drag her forward.

"No, not on your life," Quinn sputters, but Brittany just grins and Santana chuckles, and they both push on her shoulders until she's forced into a sitting position between them. She bristles at the way Puck looks at her from beneath his eyebrows, and she knows she would have slapped him if his bottle spin _magically_ landed on her. Instead it lands on Kurt, who blushes furiously and tries to back out, but Puck launches forward and grabs him by the shirt collar. Their kiss is brief and sloppy, and all the guys moan and the girls squeal.

"Gross," Kurt says, though his face is still beet red. He wipes his lips and gives the glass bottle a dainty spin, and it lands on Mercedes. Mercedes laughs and clobbers Kurt with another sloppy kiss, and he seems like he's about to faint from the embarrassment of it.

Quinn laughs along with Mike as he and Mercedes kiss, and then again when Mike spins and gets Rachel. Their kiss lasts long enough for Tina to scowl and bat at Mike's ear, but he just chuckles when they break away. Rachel spins and it lands on Santana, which brings a flood of hooting from everyone in the room.

Quinn glances to Santana, who rolls her eyes and with a dramatic scoff, leans across the floor to kiss Rachel. It lasts for one prolonged beat and then they break away, and Puck slaps his thigh. Santana looks at Rachel with slanted eyes, but she shakes her head and gives the bottle a spin.

It lands on Artie, and Santana's sneer is so instant and obvious that everyone in the room can feel it. Quinn senses Brittany tense up beside her, and a glance towards Artie shows his wide eyes and terrified expression.

"N-no, that's okay," Artie squeaks.

"Ugh, shut up," Santana says, and she shuffles forward to plant a rough and unforgiving kiss on his lips.

Artie's blushing harder than Kurt when Santana scoots away from him, and Brittany watches his face as she reaches forward to spin the bottle for him. It lands on Sam, and everyone in the room is erupting into roars of laughter when Sam flies upright and then launches himself into Artie's lap. They're ungainly and awkward; Sam's laugh is booming and Quinn smiles along with him when Sam kisses Artie's lips. It lasts long enough for all the boys to cheer and shout, and Sam's laughter is uncontrollable when he finally stumbles back to his spot.

Sam's bottle spin lands on Brittany, and Quinn grins. She's enjoying this game, especially since it hasn't landed on her yet, and she hasn't had to suffer through Puck or Finn or anyone equally despicable.

Santana stands up abruptly, and Quinn watches her with surprise as she wanders towards the bar. Brittany and Sam lean in towards each other, shyly, and Quinn is chuckling at their bashful expressions before their lips meet. It's strange for her to think that she's experienced kissing both of these people – and so has Santana – and she wonders how she compares for both of them.

"Hey, hey honies? Know what this is not? This is not a Big Red commercial. _No me gusta_." Santana leans forward and cuffs Sam's head, and he pulls away, still grinning. Brittany's face is flushed and she's looking at Sam with an expression that wipes the smile from Quinn's face, because it's one Brittany has thrown at her enough times that she knows what it means.

Quinn is watching Santana, who wandered over towards the couch, clutching her drink, when she hears another round of hoots of approval. She glances down and realizes Brittany's bottle landed on her, and now it's her turn to blush.

"Oh yeah, this is going to be good," Puck mutters, and he nudges Finn.

Quinn rolls her eyes but smiles at Brittany, fighting down the butterflies that bang around in her belly. She sucks in a silent, expectant breath when Brittany hovers her face close, and then Quinn's eyes flutter shut. Brittany's lips brush against hers and Quinn can instantly feel her heartbeat go wild in her chest, the blood pounding in her ears. Brittany's palm snakes up to cup her cheek, and then Brittany's tongue is flicking against Quinn's lower lip, sliding along it.

Quinn strangles the moan that wants to emerge, instead parting her lips slightly and allowing Brittany in. She tries to resist, to keep the kiss brief and on the friendly side, but Brittany pushes harder against her and Quinn is helpless, opening her mouth and sliding her tongue into Brittany's mouth. She can taste the sweet alcohol and the underlying Brittany, and it makes her stomach clench. She curls her fingers into her own palms to resist dragging them through Brittany's hair.

By the time Brittany pulls away, Quinn's breathing is faint and ragged, and she can't focus over the way her body is constricted by longing. Puck and Finn are laughing and cheering, and even Mercedes, Mike and Tina are sputtering. She keeps her gaze down and tries to ignore the tremble in her fingers when she spins the bottle.

It lands on Rachel, and if Puck was bad before, he's worse now. Rachel meets her gaze tentatively, and Quinn rolls her eyes again, biting her lip before closing the gap between them. She doesn't think about it, she just does it, and then she settles herself beside Brittany again.

"Oh, that was lame," Puck mutters.

"You're just jealous nobody's been forced to kiss you yet," Lauren says.

Rachel spins the bottle and it lands on Blaine.

Quinn is looking forward to watching this, but Brittany stands up beside her and tugs on her arm. She glances up curiously, but doesn't object, allowing Brittany to draw her up and then away from the group. It's splintering off gradually, anyway, because Rachel and Blaine kiss and then hop up to go do some kind of singing at the stage.

Quinn doesn't question Brittany, but follows behind her. She notices the way the music starts to fade as they head towards the back of the basement, and she's surprised to see a door along the back wall. It's cracked and light is shining from inside it.

Brittany pulls the door open and then nudges Quinn inside, and Quinn blinks at the sight of Santana sitting on top of a washing machine. Santana's holding her red plastic cup and staring into it, refusing to look up and acknowledge them.

Brittany shuts the door behind Quinn, effectively drowning out the noise from the basement. It's a tight squeeze, because the laundry room is more like a laundry closet, and Brittany has to slide sideways until she's standing in front of Santana. Quinn watches the way Brittany puts her hands on Santana's knees, and then she catches Santana's bottom lip quivering.

"Why are you crying?" Brittany whispers. She scratches her nails along the rough fabric of Santana's jeans, and it makes Santana blink.

"I'm not." Santana mutters, and then she uses the back of her hand to dry the tears before they fall. "Why are you guys in here?"

"We missed you." Brittany says simply, and she cocks her head towards Quinn.

Quinn has no idea what to do in this situation, so she shrugs and shuffles next to Brittany, who drops one of her hands so that they both stand centered in front of Santana.

Santana looks down at them, and Quinn slants Brittany bewildered glances from beneath her eyelashes, because now they're quiet and just looking at one another. Brittany keeps her gaze towards Santana, expectant, and eventually Quinn settles her eyes there as well.

Santana looks between them and Quinn gets the feeling she knows that they're waiting for something; exactly what is still a bit of a mystery to her.

Finally, Santana exhales, and she sets her plastic cup aside. "I saw you guys kissing."

Brittany just nods. Quinn keeps looking at Santana.

Santana presses her lips together for a moment before she says, "Do it again."

Quinn raises an eyebrow, a little taken aback by the command. But Brittany flashes Santana a quick and playful smile before she's turning towards Quinn, and Quinn blinks and falters, using her hand to grip Brittany around the wrist. "Wait."

Brittany searches between her eyes, slightly perplexed, and Quinn rubs at the back of her neck awkwardly. "What if somebody comes in?"

"Nobody will," Brittany murmurs, and she turns her hand over to rub her fingers along the inside of Quinn's wrist. It's incredibly distracting, and Quinn finds herself staring at the motion, unable to think of any kind of reasonable argument.

"Okay," Quinn breathes, and the next moment Brittany's stepping closer to her, cupping her face with one palm, and sliding the other along her inner forearm. Quinn glimpses the ring of navy that outlines Brittany's eyes, and she has a moment to take in how Brittany's pupils shift and seem to take up the majority of her eyes, before she's dipping her head and pressing her mouth against Quinn's.

This kiss is fuller than the one they shared in front of the other kids, and Quinn doesn't swallow the moan that rumbles in the back of her throat when Brittany slicks her tongue past Quinn's lips this time. Quinn closes her eyes tightly and fists her fingers in the loose fabric of Brittany's t-shirt, riding the way that Brittany builds her up so expertly, as if she knows every single secret to Quinn's body. Brittany's hand slides from her cheek into her hair, and the fingers are tightening and tangling, while the other draws lazy circles in the tender flesh at the crook of Quinn's elbow. She's struggling to control her breathing, but Brittany keeps nursing her bottom lip between both of hers, and the sensation of little nibbles coupled with slight suction is making her belly tighten and her heart race.

Quinn can hear Santana's breaths in the tight space, and they're louder than her own. Quinn is somewhat aware of it, though it's hard to concentrate on anything outside of Brittany's warm mouth and lazy, teasing tongue, and the sound gives Quinn a sharp little thrill in the pit of her stomach.

"Mmf, God," Santana let out in a defeated groan, sliding from atop the washing machine. She bumps into them, wedging them between her and the wall, and Quinn gasps when it makes Brittany's teeth graze a little more sharply than she intended.

"Fuck," Santana breathes throatily. She slides a hand underneath the edge of Quinn's shirt, brushing her palm along Quinn's side and the dip of her hip. Quinn shivers, struggling to breathe around Brittany's incessant kissing, but Britt only holds onto her tighter, kissing her more furiously. Quinn can sense Brittany's own breaths growing ragged and desperate, and it makes her dip her hand underneath Brittany's top, exploring. That causes Brittany's breath to hitch and stutter, and her mouth grows more urgent, teeth scraping roughly at Quinn's lips.

Quinn breaks away from Brittany abruptly when she feel's Santana's mouth on place where her neck meets her shoulder. Quinn is panting and squirming, one hand gripping the smooth, warm skin of Brittany's waist, while Santana's continues to slide low on Quinn's stomach. It's almost too much stimulation, and she whines, biting her lip. Brittany sucks in harsh, irrhythmic breaths, her eyes dark and hazy.

Quinn groans at the sensation of Santana's tongue sliding over her neck, licking at the pulse point. She scratches her nails over Brittany in response, and Brittany shudders, pushing closer to them. Quinn finally sneaks her hand under Brittany's bra, and it makes Brittany grunt when Quinn's fingertips brush against her nipple.

"Santana," Brittany husks out, and it causes Santana's head to pull away from Quinn's neck. Her lips are swollen and she has a look of desperate lust on her face.

Brittany leans forward and fuses their mouths together, and the sight makes Quinn's throat close on a sharp breath. She's seen them kiss before, but this time – the way Brittany is pulling on Santana's hair, the way Santana is leaning into it – makes Quinn realize why Santana likes to watch her and Brittany so much. It's almost _too_ sexy to watch.

Quinn shifts until she's standing next to Brittany, then she's leaning forward and sucking along Santana's collarbones. It makes Santana shake and moan into Brittany's mouth, and Quinn feels Santana's hand dig into her hair. She fits a hand underneath Santana's shirt, and she sucks harder when she finds Santana's nipple already erect. Santana moans and writhes against the washing machine, with Brittany kissing her and Quinn sucking on her neck, and Quinn feels drunk on the taste and smell of her.

"God." Santana gasps, and Brittany immediately leans forward to suck Santana's earlobe into her mouth. Santana closes her eyes and groans, both hands clinging to the other girls, nearly paralyzed.

Quinn shifts impatiently, her palm slicking down the firm flesh of Santana's stomach. She feels the muscles quiver and bunch beneath her hand and she pants into Santana's neck from the anticipation. She finally dips her hand beneath the band of Santana's jean shorts and then her panties, groaning at the way they stick to her.

"Shit!" Santana mutters, gripping Quinn tightly. "No, I want—"

Quinn pulls her head away to look at Santana, whose chest is struggling wildly to suck in enough air. "I want to touch you," Santana mutters. "Britt can touch me."

Quinn shakes her head, pressing her fingers more insistently against Santana. "You touch her," She mutters, and tilts her head forward to slide her tongue along the underside of Santana's jaw.

She nearly jumps at the unexpected feeling of Brittany's palm against the small of her back, tugging her shirt up. She sucks a breath in through her teeth at the sensation of Britt's long, strong fingers tickling beneath her belly button, teasing. She glides her fingers lower and stifles a moan at how wet Santana is.

"Oh my fucking god," Santana pants, and Quinn can only assume she discovered the same thing inside of Brittany.

"Fuck," Quinn bites her bottom lip when Brittany's fingertips slip against her, causing the knot inside of her to tighten and throb incessantly. "Fucking shit."

Brittany grunts because Santana is the first to pick up a rhythm, working her wrist between them. The three of them are standing in a tight circle, so close together than Quinn can feel Brittany's breath against her neck even though she's pressing her face into Santana's shoulder. Brittany's fingers press into Quinn and make her moan, jolting her own hand into action against Santana.

Soon the room is filled the slick, quiet noises of flesh rubbing against flesh, and Quinn muffles her whimpers and whines into Santana, while Brittany leans into her. She can feel the way Santana's torso expands with every muted grunt, and Brittany's weight is warm against her free arm.

"God, Britt," Quinn pants, because she's sure Brittany is winding her up faster than anyone ever has, and she knows that just one more little—

But then Santana's shuddering and moaning, her hips rocking hard against Quinn's hand, and it's enough to—

Brittany's vocal chords close on a muffled shriek, and then the three of them are writhing and grinding and gasping against one another, shuddering and sweating in unison.

"Christ," Santana is the first to exhale, and then she's pulling her fingers away from Brittany. Before she has a chance to bring them to her mouth, Quinn grabs her wrist, and sucks the fingers between her lips. Santana squeaks and her face darkens, and then Quinn slides her own hand out from between Santana's legs. Brittany does the same, and surprises Quinn by mimicking her and drawing her hand into her mouth. The sensation causes Quinn to stare in utter shock, as Brittany's tongue laps against her fingertips, swirling around the knuckles.

"Yeah, I know," Santana says with a slight smirk, and Brittany's grinning her cheshire grin into Quinn's eyes before she offers her own hand to Santana.

"Damn." Quinn looks down at her own hand, freshly relinquished from Brittany's mouth, and then back up at Brittany.

"It smells like sex in here," Santana says, and it causes Quinn to realize that they just fucked each other in Rachel Berry's _laundry room,_ and that all of their friends are just on the other side of the door.

"Oh my God," Quinn groans, and she brings her dry hand up to rub at her forehead. "We're crazy."

Santana lets out a shot laugh, and she runs her fingers through her tousled hair. "I need a shot of tequila and a hot shower."

Brittany just smiles at both of them, as if she couldn't be happier than she is in this moment. It makes some of the anxiety ease out of Quinn, and she smiles back at Brittany. She slips her hand into Brittany's and squeezes when Brittany holds it back.

"Let's get out of here," Santana says.

Brittany nods, and Santana leads the pair of them out of the laundry room.

Quinn wants to tell Santana about the hickeys on her neck, she really does, but she figures it can be payback for that time she left giant marks all over Quinn's neck in the bathroom at school.

"We're leaving," Santana says to no one in particular. The party has quieted down, with most of the couples making out drowsily on Rachel's loveseat or the floor, and the others passed out in lumps on the floor. She scans the crowd and scowls at the sight of Sam sitting with Rachel in his lap.

"Just don't," Quinn mutters, but she knows that there isn't a chance of that.

"Santana," Brittany says with a sigh, and it stops Santana from marching towards Sam and Rachel. She turns to throw them both an annoyed look, but doesn't pursue the conflict.

"I don't know why you care," Quinn hisses, just quiet enough for Santana to hear her. "Not like you love him."

"Shut it, Quinn," Santana snaps, and leads them up the stairs.

The house is dark and empty, and Santana stumbles almost immediately after entering the room. They end up having to trade places, allowing Brittany to lead with Santana and Quinn both gripping tightly to her shirt.

"I feel like a seeing eye dog," Brittany says into the gloom.

Quinn scoffs out a laugh.

"I'm blind, too, though." Quinn can hear the puzzlement in Brittany's voice. "I just know the way."

"C'mon Britt, let's get out of here," Santana mutters. "I don't want to catch any of Berry's cooties."

"Too late," Quinn says with a chuckle.

"Eugh, Fabray."

"I'm kind of jealous you both got to kiss her, and not me," Brittany says as she leads them around the dining table and into the living room.

"Seriously, Britt?" Santana seems incredulous.

"Yeah, she's like the only one I haven't yet."

Quinn can practically hear Santana rolling her eyes and it makes her smile.

Then her smile drops. "Even Mercedes? Finn? Puck? Wait, of course Puck. But Mercedes? Tina? Mike?"

Brittany makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat, and since the living room is the darkest room in the house, Quinn has to concentrate on following Brittany closely.

When they finally make it outside, the streetlights shed enough light to allow them to pick their way over Rachel's manicured lawn to Santana's car.

"God, that party sucked," Santana grouses after she's buckled into the driver seat. Quinn sits in the backseat again, and she likes the way Brittany puts her hand on Santana's knee, and Santana doesn't move it. She's missed this between them, the little familiarities, and the easy way the three of them have with each other.

"I had fun." Brittany says.

"Me too." Quinn adds with a smile.

Santana rolls her eyes and starts her engine. "Because you two are losers."

Quinn leans forward and rests her chin against the back of Brittany's seat, and runs her fingers through Brittany's hair.

"You gotta go home, Q?" Santana asks after a while, and Quinn realizes she was dozing off against the seat. She perks up and peers at Santana, who turned to regard her.

Quinn shakes her head. "No, not tonight."

Santana gives a slight nod, and Quinn feels Brittany's hand slide up towards Quinn's. "Sleepover."

Quinn waits, watching Santana's face, and Santana bites her lip uneasily. Finally a small smile pulls at her lips, and she gives a little nod. "Okay."

"I'll give you a massage," Brittany whispers, and Quinn doesn't know if she's saying it to Santana or her, but she murmurs her assent.

Quinn is amazed when she crawls into Santana's bed a little while later, in one of Santana's tanktops, with Brittany beside her and Santana sandwiching Brittany in. She sucks in a deep breath, inhaling the smell of Santana on her sheets that she's missed, but also the sweet, subtle smell of Brittany's skin and hair. She shifts and nuzzles her face against Brittany's shoulder, more relaxed than she has been in months. Santana lies mirroring her, and their hands twine together across Brittany's stomach.

Brittany sighs a soft, tiny sigh, and Quinn is sure she has the same feeling of contentment that Quinn herself has.

Quinn doesn't know how she got this lucky again, but she doesn't want to question it. She falls asleep with Santana's thumb rubbing lazy circles against the back of her hand and Brittany's fingers playing with the ends of her hair. She remembers the feeling of being inside of a bubble, and how weightless and happy she was before, even though she knew that somehow it was going to end. It surprises her that she's here again, and it makes her just as giddy as before; yet it scares her, to realize how ridiculously happy these two make her, and how easily it went from good to bad before. She remembers Brittany's ominous warning and the flat denial in Santana's eyes, and it makes Quinn's heart ache.

She falls asleep holding onto them tightly, because she doesn't want to wake up and find out this was all just a dream, because she knows that it's her version of paradise, and Quinn has never been allowed to linger long in any kind of bliss.

Xxxxx


	8. Chapter 8

Brittany has never been accused of being very great at understanding things, though she knows there are some things she understands better than anyone else.

Brittany is good at understanding people. Well, some people. Some are easy to understand – people like Puck or Finn, who are very uncomplicated and easy. Brittany likes easy people, because she considers herself one of them and they're like birds of a feather or something. Then there are slightly more complex people, like Mr. Schue or Tina or Artie or Mercedes. Brittany gets along well with these, even though they tend to be the ones who look at her like she speaks a different language or like she still belongs in diapers or something. They're still awesome, as far as Brittany is concerned.

The most intricate, convoluted, and downright _tricky_ people are those like Santana, Quinn, and – well, of course – Rachel. Brittany doesn't even know why it's so, but she can untangle them the best, sometimes better than they can untangle themselves and certainly better than they can untangle each other. It's her natural gift. She's so good at it she wonders sometimes if she could put it on her résumé somewhere, when she's old enough to need a résumé.

Once, Brittany read about a man who was born blind, and who developed an interest in painting as an adult. He had never seen colors before, or shapes or objects or anything, but he was able to paint realistic scenes of fruit bowls and lamps and things he had encountered in his everyday life, though there was no way for him to truly know what those things look like, or even how paint would look on paper. It was considered a miracle.

She knows almost everything there is to know about Santana, because she's loved her since they were in the first grade. So Brittany can look at Santana and all the silent things about her translate into words for Brittany, which she knows is phenomenal – enough people have told her so over the years – but for her it's just normal.

With Quinn, it's kind of like being the blind man, because she doesn't know her as well or intimately. There are still things about Quinn that Brittany has never encountered, so even she doesn't know how she can interpret the things Quinn says without ever saying them. Sometimes, she isn't entirely sure she's drawing everything right, but how would she know, anyway? The blind man didn't, and he kept painting regardless.

Brittany is good at understanding people, especially the people she loves. She doesn't think it's a particular talent or gift, or any kind of miracle or phenomenon. She actually thinks if more people were patient, they would be able to do the same thing as her.

Brittany has a lot of patience. _A lot._ She has had to have bottomless patience to be Santana's friend for the twelve years, and even more to be Quinn's friend for the last three. Individually, they're a challenge for people with just the regular allotment of tolerance. Together, they rival the patience-testing of Rachel Berry, Snooki, and Lindsay Lohan combined.

Still, even though Brittany has this natural aptitude for understanding people and being unbelievably patient, she has no problem admitting that certain individuals who are well beyond her level of comprehension.

Sue Sylvester is one of them.

Brittany doesn't understand anything about her. Nothing.

Sue has a peculiar way of talking that's almost impossible for Brittany to listen to on a normal day. She speaks slowly, but the words are long and fit together weirdly, and they have emphasis at strange points. Brittany likes things that have a rhythm or balance, and nothing about Sue does. She's one of the most imbalanced people Brittany has ever met.

So when Sue tries to order her into the gullet of a giant cannon, Brittany takes several long moments to respond.

"I don't wanna die yet," She says simply, because it's the truth. Quinn and Santana flank her, looking towards Sue with identical expressions of skepticism on their faces.

Sue scoffs and orders Becky to bring her a mannequin – strangely, it has blonde hair in a ponytail and blue eyes, just like Brittany – and she shoves it down the length of the cannon. The entire Cheerios squad watches with silent dread as Sue pushes the button that sends parts of the doll flying in every direction.

Brittany usually isn't afraid. She's almost never had any reason to be in her entire life. But the thought of climbing into the cannon scares her.

"Don't worry, I'll talk to Mr. Schue and take care of this." Quinn says from beside her.

Brittany's mouth has a weird coppery taste in it and her stomach is fluttering. She thinks this might be what panic feels like.

Strangely, on her right, Santana says nothing. Brittany gives Quinn an uncertain look, and Quinn quirks out a small smile. She shifts until her hand is reaching for Brittany's, and Brittany obliges by closing her fingers around Quinn's.

The midmorning air is chilly, and their fingers are nipped by the wind, but Brittany keeps her hand in Quinn's as they walk back towards McKinley. Santana follows them, but her pace is slow and unsure, and Brittany can tell (without really knowing _why_ or _how)_ that Santana is bothered by something.

* * *

By the end of the day, Brittany is stressed out about this whole human projectile issue.

She generally likes to avoid conflict with Sue Sylvester, so part of her wants to give in – because for her, the fear of death is slightly abstract (like it is for most teenagers) and even though logically, she knows she most likely won't survive it, it seems too farfetched to believe she would actually _die._ Brittany has never had to genuinely fear for her life before, and it doesn't settle well with her. She shrugs it off and tries to focus on more positive things.

Sue forced a consent form into her hands before she left Cheerios practice that day, to take home to consider. Brittany put it in her backpack and tries to ignore it.

"Let's go back to your house and discuss this," Quinn says, and Brittany nods.

Santana has been strangely quiet all day, but she piles into Quinn's car with Brittany instead of her own.

Brittany likes it whenever this happens, because it means they'll be staying the night together.

They almost always spend time together at Santana's house, and the prospect of sleeping in her own bed with the pair of them makes Brittany strangely excited.

Santana knows Brittany's house as well as Brittany knows hers, but Quinn is only familiar with it in passing. She isn't used to the muted din that seems to erupt the second the door opens, or the shrieks and thuds of little girls running rampant through the house. The three of them dodge plastic toys strewn over the carpet and Brittany's dad barely looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch.

They make it up the stairs and into Brittany's bedroom before Brittany's mom can corner them and force them to eat something. Quinn laughs at Lord Tubbington, the fat puddle of a cat that lounges on Brittany's bed, as well as her seven-year-old twin sisters who giggle and peek at them from behind their door down the hall.

Santana immediately flops down on the rickety bed, which shifts and groans beneath her. The cat growls and slants Santana a narrow look, but Santana just wrinkles her face in response and swats at him. He grunts and then slinks away, nudging his face against Quinn's ankle on the way out.

Brittany settles onto the edge of her own bed, and Quinn folds herself against the headboard. Santana is stretched between them, her white sneakers hanging off the edge of the bed, head propped up on her palm.

"I heard Sue talking today," Santana begins without preamble. Brittany sees the way Quinn's gaze is sharp and how it locks into the back of Santana's head. "She said that she was going to try to get the day of the competition moved to the same day as the football game."

Quinn shifts, lifting a hand to rub at her nose. "That would mean we wouldn't get to perform in the halftime show."

"She said if we don't go then we'll be kicked off the Cheerios." Santana says with a shrug.

Brittany freezes, feeling torn. She glances between Quinn and Santana, trying to gauge their faces. It only takes a cursory glance to see how Santana feels: she's trying to act nonchalant and unfazed, but Brittany can see the anxiety and worry shifting and rippling beneath her skin. Santana keeps her eyes unfocused and gazing away, as if she knows what Brittany is doing and is trying hard to hide from it.

Quinn is a different matter. Brittany has to really _look_ to see how she feels, and it's not clear at first. Quinn's tawny eyebrows are knit above her eyes, her forehead creased with an expression that looks somewhere between disbelief and disgust. She's peering at the back of Santana's head as if to will her to take her words back, but the silence stretches between them.

"Mr. Schue will kick us out of glee if we don't do the halftime show." Quinn says at last.

That place between Brittany's shoulder blades begins to itch, like an old woman's ability to sense the oncoming rain. Brittany can sense it, too – but it's a different kind of storm, and the way the tension is building between Quinn and Santana means that it's going to be a big one, full of thunder and hail and destructive winds.

Santana rolls onto her back, and folds her hands calmly along her stomach. She stares at the ceiling and fixes her face in a neutral expression. "I don't give a crap about glee. I'm not quitting the Cheerios."

Brittany bites her lip and looks at Quinn anxiously.

"Even if it means getting Brittany _killed?_" Quinn asks, incredulous. Her eyebrows are drawn up and her eyes are narrowed.

Santana scoffs, making a dismissive gesture with her fingers. "Britt isn't going to die. Calm down, drama queen."

"Seriously? How can you be so selfish?" Quinn snaps, the edge in her voice flint sharp.

Santana's own eyes widen for a moment before they turn into slits, and she jerks her head to stare hotly at Quinn.

Brittany's itch grows into a full-force tingle, and it makes the muscles in her back and shoulders bunch and knot uncomfortably.

"You might not care about your reputation anymore, Q, because you went all Juno last year and ruined it anyway. But I worked hard to get where I'm at. I'm not going to throw it away."

Quinn bites out a laugh and it seems mocking. "Your own social status is more important to you than Brittany's well-being? Really?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "It isn't about that."

"Then what is it about? She could get seriously hurt, Santana."

Santana won't look in Brittany's direction.

It makes an odd lump form in the back of Brittany's throat.

"It's okay." Brittany says finally, when it's clear Santana isn't going to say anything else. "I'm not going to sign the consent form."

Just like that, some of the static snapping off of Quinn seems to dissipate, though she still looks at Santana as if she were something mildly disgusting. "That doesn't solve what we're going to do about the teachers making us choose."

"It's easy." Santana shrugs, her eyes trained on the ceiling. "We pick Cheerios."

Quinn spends another moment staring at Santana, and then she looks at Brittany.

"What do you think?"

Brittany shrugs, her fingers picking at the edge of her rose-colored bedspread.

"I know you like being in glee, Brittany," Quinn says quietly, and when Brittany looks at her face, it's soft, without the hard lines or pinched lips that make Brittany feel uneasy.

Brittany nods one slow nod.

Santana turns her head so that her cheek is resting against the mattress, and her eyes are trained on Brittany. Her face is soft, too, but more opaque than Quinn's (but still somehow easier to read), with dark, impenetrable eyes. "You like being a Cheerio, too, right?"

"I want both." Brittany says finally, her voice quiet. "Why can't I have both?" She glances between Quinn and Santana and wonders if they understand what she's really trying to say.

Santana seems to pick up on it, and she sits up abruptly, as if her spine had straightened rapidly. She folds her arms across her chest and looks around Brittany's room. "You have to pick."

Quinn tucks her lips into her mouth and her eyes dart from Santana to Brittany, suddenly off balance.

"This is a lot of pressure." Brittany says finally.

Quinn meets her gaze and holds it, and even Brittany can't interpret what she's thinking.

Finally, Quinn reaches out between them, and Brittany clutches Quinn's fingers in her own.

"I'll let you choose, Britt," She says finally. She doesn't look at Santana when she says it, even though Santana cranes her head to look at Quinn over her shoulder. "We don't have to fight about this."

Brittany squeezes Quinn's fingers and gives her a small smile.

Santana stands up and a moment later she strips out of her uniform, and Brittany and Santana watch her with curious expressions. Finally, she digs around in Brittany's dresser for some pajamas. She slides into a pair of her own shorts and a t-shirt she keeps here for good measure, and then tosses some at Quinn and Brittany.

Brittany shrugs while Quinn frowns, but they change their clothes silently.

That night, after Brittany's mother fed them and spent the evening teasing Santana and complimenting Quinn, the three of them climb back into Brittany's bed. For the first time since this arrangement began, Brittany doesn't fight Santana for the middle. Instead, she lies on the edge with an arm open, and looks at Quinn expectantly.

Quinn hesitates, throwing a nervous look at Santana, who only huffs and looks away. Then Quinn shrugs and slides into the bed, allowing Brittany to wrap her arms across her torso and bury her face in her neck. She smiles despite herself, and it only takes a moment before Santana relents and ducks beneath the covers, resting her head on Quinn's shoulder.

It feels like hours pass in the dark, and Brittany listens to the steady rhythm of Santana's breathing. Quinn brushes a hand languidly through Brittany's hair, and eventually Brittany's eyelids begin to droop.

"I won't ever make you choose," Quinn whispers, and Brittany is sure Quinn thought she was asleep.

Santana shifts, rolling onto her side, her back facing them.

Brittany's fingers tighten on the material of Quinn's shirt, and she drifts off with Quinn's promise reverberating in her heart.

* * *

Over the next few days, the issue escalates and Sue Sylvester won't take _no_ for an answer.

Brittany doesn't know what to do. She grows more quiet and withdrawn as the days pass, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible. Quinn hovers near her, as if she can sense the way Brittany feels unbalanced and anxious. Santana always stays just out of reach, as if she doesn't want to be associated with Brittany and her struggle to decide.

They continue dance rehearsals with glee, as if they hadn't already agreed to ditch them at the last moment. Brittany feels guilty, looking at her friends' faces and knowing that she'll be saying her final words right as they do their opening number.

"You can't do it," Quinn tells her at their lockers, and Brittany nods, but doesn't say anything.

Sue shows her a letter that the cannon wrote, trying to guilt her into signing the consent form.

The competition is only a few days away, and Brittany wants nothing else more than to burrow underneath a blanket with Lord Tubbington and forget about all of this.

The three of them stand in front of the mirrors in the bathroom one night after a late dance rehearsal, wiping the makeup off their faces. Brittany watches the reflection of Santana on one side of her, carefully using a sponge to remove the zombie paint.

"Finn keeps trying to get me to commit to preforming at the halftime show," Quinn says quietly.

Santana rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Why does the Neanderthal care?"

Quinn shrugs, grasping the spigot to the faucet and using the sudden rush of water to wet her fingertips. The gray, cracked makeup on her face turns runny and smudged as she tries to scrape it off.

"What the hell are we gonna do?" Quinn asks finally. She keeps her eyes trained on her hand, now covered in grimy face paint, beneath the spray of water.

"I thought we already decided." Santana is making more progress than Quinn, and she raises her eyebrows, trying to get at the delicate skin above her eyes with her little sponge.

"We can't do it if Sue is going to make Brittany shoot out of that cannon," Quinn says, her tone with a hint of warning.

Santana makes a derisive noise in the back of her throat. "She won't. She _can't_. Besides, we've never missed a Cheerios competition. Not since we were freshmen."

Brittany nods slowly. "We've never missed a glee performance either."

Santana's movements become jerky and irritated, and Brittany can tell her shoulders are squared. "It's not a performance, for fuck's sake. It's just a high school football game. The Cheerios are going to a _national championship._"

"Did you not hear the part where Mr. Schue is going to kick us out?" Quinn mutters.

Santana rolls her eyes again. "Oh please. He wouldn't actually stick to it."

Brittany bites her lip, ignoring the sticky chemical taste of the makeup that clings to the back of her front teeth. She glances between the pair of them, knowing that they're both trying to appear collected. They aren't fooling Brittany, though.

She huffs out a long breath of air. "Coach Sue is going to make me get in Wendell."

Quinn's eyebrows crinkle up, but only momentarily, before understanding dawns on her face. "Oh, Britt."

"I don't believe it." Santana's voice is clipped and tight, and both Brittany and Quinn whip their heads around to stare at her.

Santana's eyes widen slightly, as if she just realized what she said, but then she shrugs. "No way she can make you do it, Britt."

"She's definitely trying, though." Brittany doesn't even know how she feels about Santana's refusal to believe her. Her stomach is sort of twisty and tight, and she feels slightly nauseous.

"Just say no." Santana avoids looking Brittany in the eye.

"I can't believe _you,_" Quinn says finally. She turns the spigot off with a wet squeak, and walks over to the paper towel dispenser. She dries her hands and face and then turns to Santana. "You're putting Brittany through all this stress, and for what? Because you're too chicken shit to be out of the Cheerios?"

Brittany can see the way Santana's face tightens, and it looks like she's a moment away from doing something dangerous.

Brittany's eyebrows wing upwards and her hands clench in anticipation.

"You know what she wants," Quinn says softly. She stares directly at the side of Santana's face.

"You don't!" Santana snaps, turning to glare at Quinn's face. "You just assume!"

Brittany feels more than just uncomfortable when they both level a look at her. She shrugs feebly, and beneath the thick coat of paint, her cheeks are warm.

"It's obvious, Santana. Brittany doesn't want to quit glee. And you shouldn't make her." Quinn says after a tense moment.

Santana keeps her eyes trained on Brittany for a moment longer, but Brittany can't find the words to speak that will make Santana happy.

"I'm not making her do anything," Santana says finally. Her eyes, when they meet Quinn's, are cold and reserved.

"I can try the cannon," Brittany offers finally.

Quinn doesn't even look at her. "No."

Santana crosses her arms and angles her head at Quinn, and the look is somewhat challenging.

Quinn's jaw flexes and her mouth hardens.

Brittany feels like a rubber band stretched way too tight. Like one little nudge and everything would snap.

"What do you want me to do, Quinn?" Santana's voice is much quieter than Brittany expected it to be. "Quit the Cheerios? How would we survive at this school?"

"Cheerleading isn't everything." Quinn replies evenly.

Brittany is almost more afraid of their quiet, controlled words than she would be if they were screaming at each other. There's something ominous about the way they stare at each other, and their hushed tones.

"It's all we've ever been."

Brittany can't fathom why Santana's voice is suddenly so vulnerable.

Quinn can see it, too, and her eyes soften. "Santana, you're stronger than you think you are. We'll be okay."

Santana shakes her head. "I'm not quitting the Cheerios."

Quinn's jaw sets again, and Brittany is afraid that Quinn is on the cusp of slapping Santana. "Fine. Then we'll quit."

"No." Brittany murmurs. "Whatever we do, we do it together."

Santana finally looks at Brittany, and her expression is a juxtaposition of helpless and furious. Her eyes are dark and large, and they look like she might be drowning. It makes Brittany's throat close, and she has to swallow several times to keep the tears at bay.

Quinn keeps her gaze locked on Santana, and finally, Santana turns back to look at Quinn.

Brittany can feel that the air is thick and heavy with tension. Her stomach knots and trembles because of it, and she keeps looking between Quinn and Santana. Part of her wants to do something, say anything to soothe the strain between them. She knows that she is partially the cause of it, though she somehow senses that the true underlying issue lies with Santana.

It seems to always come back to Santana.

Santana tries to keep her expression stiff and firm, but it's a losing battle. The skin on her face ripples as if the muscles are unable remain taut; the emotions roiling just beneath the surface. Finally, something in her breaks, and she seems to draw into herself (collapsing while remaining still) while her eyes grow haunted.

"Quinn." Santana says on a whisper. "I don't—I can't—"

"It's okay." Quinn closes the gap between them, and she immediately wraps her arms around Santana. The sight is somewhat fascinating to Brittany, because she's never really seen them embrace. Santana turns her face into Quinn's neck, oblivious to the way her damp makeup leaves smears of gray and green. Quinn runs a soothing hand down Santana's hair, the other rubs her back.

Brittany's chest hitches, and a new emotion fills her, beginning in her solar plexus and winding outwards. It makes her fingers and toes tingle, and her heart thud sorely in her chest and behind her eyes. Brittany has never experienced it before, but it's a sweet and aching kind of pain. She thinks it must be joy.

* * *

On the day of the competition, they simply don't go with Sue and the Cheerios squad.

Quinn decided it was the best course of action. If they gave Sue notice, she would have done nothing but torture them beforehand.

The glee club and the football team do great. McKinley actually wins a game.

Santana doesn't say much, but Brittany can see her watching the other kids. She knows Santana is afraid of their judgment and cruelty.

That night, they pile into Brittany's car and drive to Santana's house. Brittany keeps her eyes on both of the other girls, looking for the tell-tale signs that one of them is on the brink of an implosion. Santana seems the closest, like she's frazzled and unraveling. Quinn appears calm and more in tune with Santana than she ever has been.

Brittany feels that itch between her shoulder blades melt away.

Later, when the lights are out and they're beneath Santana's sheets, Santana doesn't battle Quinn, like she usually does. Instead, she lies on her back and allows Quinn to make furious love to her, while Brittany watches, entranced at the sight. She has never seen the way Quinn's blonde hair plays against Santana's caramel skin, and the helpless, drowning look on Santana's face is back, more powerful than before. Quinn's lips kiss against Santana's jawline as she comes undone, and she whispers into Santana's ear, something too soft for Brittany to hear.

It makes Santana's lips tremble and her eyes swell shut, and she turns her face away from Quinn, panting.

Brittany expects Quinn to kiss Santana's face – that's what she would have done, anyway – but instead, Quinn reaches out in the darkness for Brittany. A moment later, Brittany is moving beneath Quinn, gasping at the intensity of her motions and the brutal heat of her mouth.

Brittany wraps her long legs around Quinn's waist and tangles her hands in Quinn's hair, and she's caught up in the concerted and determined look in her eyes. She can't seem to look away, and her orgasm ripples through her so suddenly that it steals her breath away. She shakes and clings to Quinn, who kisses her neck and ear and murmurs, "I love you," quietly while Brittany spirals out of control.

She groans and then clings to Quinn, even when Quinn pulls out of her and makes to roll away. Brittany understands, a little bit, the way Santana always feels whenever Brittany does that to her; consumed and floating in an emotion too big to name. It usually makes Santana cry, her eyes leaking hot, quiet tears.

It just makes Brittany feel like she's flying, or like her heart wants to burst out of her chest. Slowly she unwraps herself from around Quinn, who sinks between them and then draws them close to her. Santana is compliant, sliding against Quinn and nestling her head on Quinn's chest, her fingers stroking a silent pattern along her abdomen.

Brittany closes her eyes, and she feels that beautiful, aching feeling return, filling all the spaces inside her that she didn't even know were empty before.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! Leave me a review and let me know what you think. If you have any questions, you can contact me on tumblr: missmandamargo dot tumblr dot com.


	9. Chapter 9

There is one thing that bothers Quinn, after the three of them quit the Cheerios and join the ranks of regular students.

It's not their abrupt change in status, though it is total and all-encompassing. She finds an odd symmetry in the fact that she started out the school year outside of the Cheerios uniform, and will be ending without it as well.

The thing that bothers Quinn is that, even though the three of them are closer than they ever have been, Brittany and Santana still have boyfriends.

It bothers her so much, in fact, it's almost all she can think about in the weeks after the big football game. She supposes she should be soothed by the fact that, most nights, the three of them climb into bed together and wake up together; but then there are those occasional times that Brittany goes out with Artie, or Sam and Santana have a date. Quinn grits her teeth and tries to ignore it, tries to focus on other things. She tries to remember the way Santana gasps against her, and that Brittany smiles and returns all the murmured 'I love you's, but for some reason, she can't recall that when she sees Santana playing with Sam's hair or Brittany holding Artie's hand.

Quinn doesn't know what to do about it. She wants to talk to them, but what to say or how to say it is something she can't get her brain around. Part of her is afraid that they'll think she's insecure (which she might be) or jealous (she definitely is). Another part of her is worried mostly about how Santana will react. She thinks Brittany might see reason – but she _knows_ that Santana won't.

Quinn doesn't know when exactly she decided to take control of her part in their relationship, but she knows that she's tired of being on the sidelines and letting Brittany and Santana call all the shots. She doesn't want to be a bystander anymore. She thinks she's had enough of Brittany's mysterious little games, and she's completely _certain_ she's done with Santana trying to keep her within rigid limits and boundaries.

She hasn't made any concrete plans to confront them, really, though the ideas float in her head and pervade almost every waking thought. She knows by the way that tension has formed a hard knot in her shoulders that it isn't something she can keep ignoring. It is a delicate situation, though, that requires time and tact and a definite plan of action, not just some half-cocked argument that explodes out of nowhere.

So she doesn't understand how quickly things got out of hand, or how she can now be yelling at Santana while Santana yells at her, and Brittany stands between them with a slightly frightened look on her face.

"What, are you insane?" Santana's voice is high and angry, and the look on her face is a mixture between astonished and infuriated. "Do you know what you're asking me?"

"It's pretty fucking simple, Santana!" Quinn shouts back. She knows she's angry by the way the blood throbs in her face, by how her forehead is wrinkled and the muscles in her neck are tight. "Stop going out with him! Stop fucking him!"

"You have lost your mind!" Santana retorts. She looks to Brittany, who only shrugs with wide eyes, and then back at Quinn. "I'm not even sure you had one to begin with, honestly."

Quinn glares at Santana. "Look, what you have with Sam is a façade. It's pointless and unfair to him."

"Like you give a shit about what's _fair_ to him!" Santana practically screams. "It's not pointless! I actually like Sam!"

Quinn wasn't prepared for that. The admission makes her feel taken aback and slightly breathless. Brittany picks at the hem of her shirt and looks between them nervously, chewing on her bottom lip.

"I'm not dumping my boyfriend because you're on your period and feeling territorial, Quinn Fabray," Santana spits into the silence. She feels slightly off balance from the lack of Quinn's response.

"You need to do the right thing," Quinn says finally, her voice even. She turns her gaze towards Brittany for the first time, and she can see the conflict in Brittany's eyes. Brittany, at least, has considered the same thing. "You need to let him go. Sam deserves to be with someone who wants to be with _him._ And only him."

Santana looks uneasy. She glances between the two blondes and the apprehension on her face is clear to Quinn. "Is this some big scheme of yours to get him back?" Santana asks.

Quinn lets out a short, startled laugh. "No, Santana. I don't want to be with anyone else." She leaves off the last part of the sentence, _except you two,_ but she's sure that Santana can hear it loud and clear ringing in the silence.

For a moment, Santana looks on the verge of accepting Quinn's point. Her bottom lip sits pinched between her teeth, and a line forms between her eyebrows. She peeks between Brittany and Quinn and Quinn can almost taste Santana's acquiescence before her face transforms into a cold expression.

"You're crazy, Q. I'm _not_ dumping Sam. Get it out of your head."

Quinn just watches as Santana marches out of Brittany's room, grabbing her clutch and earrings on the way out. She was on her way to dinner with Sam, which is what had prompted this little outburst to begin with. As soon as the door slams shut, Quinn feels the anger drain out of her, and she's left oddly exhausted and feeling a little downcast.

She sighs, and walks over to sit on the edge of Brittany's bed. She runs a hand through her hair and regrets immediately the way she brought it up. But something inside of her snapped – she couldn't handle the thought of Santana kissing Sam anymore. Or the thought of anything worse happening.

Brittany sits beside Quinn and takes her hand between both of her own, and Quinn feels soothed by the gentle way Brittany's thumbs run over the little tendons and blood vessels.

"I know why you want Santana to stop seeing Sam." Brittany says quietly.

Quinn lifts her head to chance a look at Brittany. Britt is solemn-faced, her eyes serious, and it makes Quinn's throat close. "Yeah?"

Brittany nods.

"I want you to stop seeing Artie, too," Quinn says. She watches Brittany's face for any kind of reaction.

It takes Brittany a long time to respond. The whole time she strokes her thumbs over Quinn's hand, and seems to mull over her answer before she speaks. "I have thought about it. I know the difference between right and wrong."

"I know you do."

Brittany nods, and takes a breath. "It isn't right to cheat on Artie. For a long time, Santana told me it isn't cheating. But I know that it is."

Quinn's heart drops. She thinks that maybe Brittany is about to tell her that, instead of leaving Artie, she's decided to leave _her,_ and the thought fills Quinn with a wild, desperate panic.

"I don't want to hurt Artie." Brittany traces the knuckle of Quinn's thumb with her fingertip.

"What _do_ you want, Britt?" Quinn asks. Her voice is scratchy because her throat is dry. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

Brittany bites her lip, and hesitates, before letting out a breath. "I want you and Santana. I love Artie. I do. But I've always loved you two. More than anything."

Quinn can feel the blood rushing to her face and through her chest, and she feels peculiarly light-headed, strangely transparent. She squeezes Brittany's fingers weakly, and she knows her own breathing is shallow and ragged. "Okay, Britt. Okay."

"It's going to suck." Brittany says morosely.

Quinn smiles a small smile, and uses her free hand to push Brittany's hair behind her ear. "I know." She wonders if it's selfish of her to be so ridiculously happy, even though it's going to cause Artie pain. "I'm glad you aren't going to be with him anymore, though."

Brittany puffs out her cheeks and lets out a loud breath. "Santana probably won't leave Sam, though. She doesn't think it's cheating. She says."

Quinn nods, pressing her lips together. "Santana isn't stupid. She knows what she's doing."

Brittany wrinkles her eyebrows together. "She's really good at telling herself things, even if they aren't the truth."

Quinn chuckles dryly. "I've realized that about her."

Brittany lifts Quinn's hand to her mouth and places a small, quick kiss on Quinn's knuckles. "Will you help me break up with Artie? You're better with words than I am."

Quinn smiles into Brittany's face and leans in to kiss her on her cheek. "You are good with words. But, of course I'll help you."

She pauses, studying Brittany's eyes, and Quinn's caught up in the delicate shadows Brittany's eyelashes cast on her cheekbones. "I think I have an idea of how to make Santana break up with Sam."

Brittany catches the gleam in Quinn's eye and it makes her smile. "Yeah?"

Quinn nods. "It's going to take a lot of willpower, though."

Brittany's face immediately scrunches in confusion. "What does Mr. Schue have to do with any of this?"

Quinn just laughs.

* * *

"How was it?" Quinn doesn't want to admit how anxious she feels. She waited for Brittany after school, just outside the doors, and as soon as the taller blonde moves past them, Quinn flanks her. She stands close to Brittany's side and closes her fingers around Brittany's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"He was sad," Brittany says, and by her voice, Quinn can tell that Britt is sad, too. It makes Quinn's heart ache uncomfortably in her chest, and she doesn't even pause to think about it before leading Brittany over to her car.

"I'm sorry, Britt," Quinn can't think of anything else to say.

Before Quinn can round to the driver's side, Brittany stops her with a palm on her shoulder. It makes Quinn's muscles tense, and she turns slowly, lifting her face to regard Brittany carefully.

"This is the right thing? Isn't it?" Brittany's voice is small and almost pleading. She glances away, towards the edge of the parking lot, and then back to Quinn. "It doesn't seem right to hurt him."

Quinn tries to breathe, but it feels like all the air got sucked out of her lungs. She lifts a hand to cover the one Brittany still has on her shoulder, and tries to collect her thoughts.

"Brittany, if you had stayed with him.. and with us," Quinn begins, and hopes she's doing it right, "Do you think it would have hurt him less if he found out about us?"

Brittany watches her face and, not unusually, Quinn can't derive full meaning from Brittany's expression.

"Did it hurt you that I was with him?" Brittany asks quietly.

Quinn's breath catches, and the edges of her vision dim a little bit. She gives one slow, precise nod, and winces when she sees the way Brittany's eyes darken.

"This was bad," Brittany says, and her voice shakes. It makes everything inside of Quinn constrict. "I never should have done this."

"What, Britt? Don't say that." Quinn feels a panic of confusion coming on. Even though Brittany isn't moving, she seems to be drawing away, and all Quinn wants to do is clutch her and hold her close.

"I should have just picked one. I didn't think about it." Brittany sounds anguished.

Quinn isn't used to Brittany being so sad or so conflicted. It makes her feel incredibly awkward, as if Brittany is fragile and one blunder will shatter everything.

"You didn't want to hurt anybody, Britt. We all know that."

"Artie does, too?" Brittany asks.

Quinn pauses, and her eyes are caught by the way Brittany chews on her bottom lip. She squeezes Brittany's hand beneath her own, and it feels cold.

"I know it. You know it." Quinn feels like she's floundering.

Brittany seems unsure, and the corners of her eyes crinkle up in an expression that Quinn thinks is dreadfully close to tears.

"What's going on?"

Santana's voice cuts through both of them, and the hard edge of accusation fades away quickly to concern when Brittany turns her head and Santana can see the troubled look on her face. Quinn doesn't know if she should feel dizzy with relief or anxious that Santana will just make everything worse.

"Britt, you okay?" Santana steps closer to them, and Brittany's body turns slightly, angling to allow Santana in, effectively turning them into a circle. Quinn has noticed the way one of them always inevitably does this.

"She just broke up with Artie." Quinn supplies.

Santana reaches out and holds Brittany's other hand. When Quinn's words sink in, she seems mildly surprised, but then she snorts. "So why are you upset? You'd think you'd be thrilled."

Brittany chuckles wetly, and Quinn scoffs, "Santana."

"What? Seriously, Hot Wheels will be fine. He'll probably sing a song about it and be over it by next Tuesday."

Brittany smiles and the tears that threatened to spill out seem to evaporate; and with it, the fist wrapped around Quinn's heart loosens. She smiles crookedly at Britt and then Santana, whose dimples are peeking out as she grins up at Brittany.

"Now it's your turn," Brittany tells her.

Santana's face drops.

"Y'all are both lunatics," Santana folds her arms across her chest. "Why would I leave Sam? We have a good thing going."

"Santana," Quinn says, exasperated. "Do you really not understand?"

Santana won't meet her gaze, and it's clear to everyone that Santana knows exactly what she's doing.

"You're so stubborn," Brittany says on a sigh. She uses her hand to tug on a lock of Santana's hair, and Santana scowls at her.

"Let's go back to my house. My mom is making sopapillas."

Brittany's face crinkles. "I don't want to eat soap. I had to once because I said a bad word in front of my Great Aunt Meredith—"

"Britt," Santana laughs her name. "You like these. You dip them in honey."

"We actually can't." Quinn cuts in. Santana turns to face her with surprise, and she sees Brittany eyeing her from the corner of her vision. Quinn avoids looking as anxious as she feels, and plants a soft, almost vulpine smile on her face. "Brittany and I have plans."

"Really?" Santana's eyebrow inches upwards on her forehead, and she glances towards Brittany, who seems to have suddenly remembered – and she shifts, folding her arms across her chest, angling her body closer to Quinn. Santana looks between the two of them and Quinn can almost see the wheels turning in her mind. She expects some kind of heated retort – a scathing quip, something. Instead Santana lifts her shoulder in a shrug.

"I'll see you girls tomorrow." Santana turns and walks back towards her car, cupping her right elbow with her left palm. Quinn links her arm through Brittany's, and they both watch her go.

"That wasn't too hard." Brittany says, and Quinn glances up at her. Brittany's eyes are still trained on Santana's form as she unlocks her door and climbs into the driver's seat.

"So far." Quinn doesn't know why, but the easy victory leaves her unsettled. She was prepared for Santana to argue or question – she doesn't know what to think about Santana giving in so easily.

"Do you want spaghetti for dinner?" Quinn pushes it to the back of her mind, and leans over to open the passenger door for Brittany.

"Are you making it?" Brittany asks. She flashes a brief smile into Quinn's face before she slides inside Quinn's car.

"Yep." Quinn shuts Brittany's door and then walks around the hood.

"Do you still have that little metal thing that turns cheese into powder?" Brittany barely waits for Quinn to get the door open before the question is asked.

Quinn smiles, starting the car. "The cheese grater? For parmesan?"

Brittany nods, but then squints. "But I want the spicy cheese."

Quinn offers Brittany a peculiar look. "Pepperjack?" Quinn tries to hide her grimace when Brittany's face breaks into a broad smile. "That's.." she just shakes her head. "We'll have to stop at the grocery store on the way home."

"I want to wear the apron this time." Brittany says, and Quinn smiles at her.

* * *

Santana was mostly right about Artie. He was upset for the rest of the week and partway into the next, and he tried to serenade her into going back out with him, but Brittany refused and he seemed okay with it. She thinks it was harder for him than it might have been otherwise because of the junior prom coming up. She feels a little bad leaving him right before the dance, but her guilty feelings are overshadowed by the sheer, joyous excitement she feels about going with Quinn, and, she hopes, Santana.

Quinn's plan to make Santana break up with Sam isn't working yet, but Brittany – who knows all the shadowy parts of Santana, the secret and quiet and still parts – thinks it will work, eventually. She isn't very sure how she feels about doing this anymore; which is, to force Santana's hand, to pressure her into doing something she doesn't want to do. Quinn just devised a way to do what Brittany was already doing in the beginning when she began dating Artie. Brittany thinks it will work because now both she and Quinn are doing it together, but what if it ends up hurting someone, like the situation with Artie?

Brittany understands mistakes. She also understands that you have to learn from them. Some people make the same mistakes over and over again. Brittany doesn't want to be one of those people.

She's one of those people who relies heavily on intuition, which sometimes can be illogical (she never claimed to be particularly logical, however), but on this matter, her intuition is fuzzy. She doesn't know if she's doing the right thing. She trusts Quinn, though, and Quinn seems to think that – even if it's not particularly _good,_ it's at least harmless.

And, Britt has to admit, it's also kind of _fun._

It started out small, the first few days after she broke up with Artie. She and Quinn avoided spending the night with Santana. Then they began doing subtle little things – Brittany tracing a fingertip up and down the line of Quinn's neck, or pulling Quinn's legs into her lap during glee club. Santana watches these small displays of affection with narrowed eyes, and Brittany can tell it bothers her.

Quinn, however, is impatient, and doesn't enjoy the game the way Brittany does. She decides to amp it up a notch one day, when Brittany has been doing her best to slide her hand low along Quinn's back or trace delicate patterns on the flesh of her inner arm whenever Santana is looking. Quinn watches her with a fierce glint in her eye, and it makes Brittany flush with excitement. The three of them stop between classes to use the restroom, and while Santana is in a stall, Quinn pushes Brittany up against the cold tile.

"Quinn," Brittany whispers, her lips splitting into a grin, but Quinn doesn't give her time to do much else. Brittany is still smiling when Quinn crushes their mouths together, and she happily traces her tongue along Quinn's lips. Quinn grunts, tangling her fingers in Brittany's hair and tugging impatiently.

Brittany sets a hand low on Quinn's neck, cupping it, and uses the pad of her thumb to feel the way Quinn's pulse hammers beneath the surface. Brittany has only ever seen Quinn this way once or twice, and it always ignites a tension low in her stomach, the muscles coiling and filling with liquid heat. Quinn's tongue, usually soft and gentle, is demanding and brutal and reminds Brittany of Santana, a little bit.

Their lips are making hungry, wet noises in the bathroom, and the sound of the toilet flushing is drowned out by the thud of Brittany's own heartbeat in her ears. Dimly, she hears the stall door open and then click shut, and the dull tapping of sneakers on the linoleum.

"Oh," Santana says, surprise coloring her tone. Brittany is too busy sucking on Quinn's bottom lip and sliding her fingertips beneath Quinn's thick lavender cardigan to notice Santana edging in closer to them.

So surprise jolts through her when Quinn breaks away. Brittany can see that most of Quinn's moss-green eyes are black and full of lust. She takes a moment to breathe, and both of them stare at each other, sucking in ragged breaths, before she turns a quizzical face towards Santana. Brittany takes a moment to focus, and she sees that Santana had attempted to wrap her arms around Quinn's waist.

"What are you doing?" Quinn's voice is slightly snappy, and perhaps harder than she intended – because it makes Brittany's spine straighten, and anxiety crawls up and down her nerves, intensifying the electricity that Quinn ignited. Santana's eyes widen fractionally, and she steps back, cocking her head to observe them both.

"Am I missing something?" Santana's voice is low and slightly dangerous.

Now the anxiety sets in on the bundle of nerves between Brittany's shoulder blades. She hates that feeling.

"We aren't having sex with you anymore," Brittany supplies, maybe prematurely. She watches the way Quinn's jaw muscle flexes on the hinge and worries that she might have said something wrong. It certainly seems to shock Santana, whose lips part slightly and then close, hardening to a thin line.

"Really?" Santana's tone is flat, if slightly sarcastic.

Quinn makes a small noise in the back of her throat, and her eyes lock with Santana's. "Not until you break up with Sam."

"Oh, I get it," Santana answers, almost too quickly – as if she had anticipated Quinn's words and already had a rebuke. "Trying to blackmail me with sex? What do you think I am?"

"That's not what this is about," Quinn says, suppressing a sigh. Brittany is surprised by the way Quinn seems weary, instead of furious. Usually Santana and Quinn build each other up into rages, and Brittany is helpless to do anything but watch them burn each other out – but today, right now, Quinn just seems tired. Like maybe she has repeated that sentence so many times and Santana just isn't getting it.

"I know what it's about," Santana snaps. "You think you can have all the control, don't you, Quinn Fabray?"

Brittany's eyebrows raise, and she tries to study Quinn's face to gauge her reaction. She's unable to do so because of the way she's standing, but she can tell by the heavy silence that Quinn is a bit surprised.

Santana continues on, her words picking up momentum, "You think you can dictate everything about this? About us? About _me?_" Santana crosses her arms in an angry motion, and her face is a storm, full of violence. "I've got news for you. It won't work."

"I don't want to control you, Santana," Quinn's voice is oddly quiet. Brittany thinks that Quinn hopes by speaking softly, Santana will calm down, but she knows deep in her bones that Santana is beyond gentling right now. "I just don't think—"

"Yeah, you're trying to impose _your_ idea of right and wrong on me! What gives you the right?"

Another beat of awkward silence, and Quinn turns to fully face Santana now. Brittany swallows, even though her mouth is incredibly dry. She can feel all the muscles in her body tensing.

"Maybe I should have just told you, before," Quinn says, and the way she says it makes Brittany feel strangely off-balance. Brittany understands that Santana and Quinn are strong and soft in different ways, and Brittany constantly has to battle the urge to soothe one when the other's words slice too deeply. Brittany wants to hug Quinn and smooth a hand down her hair, but she knows that doing that in front of Santana right now would just make things worse. Instead, she bites her lip and curls her fingers into her palms. "When you first got with Sam. Or maybe when we first start sleeping together again."

Brittany can tell that it's taking every ounce of self-control Santana has to listen to Quinn right now. The tiny muscles in her face are twitching, and she looks like she's grinding her teeth.

"I can't stand the thought of you—" Quinn's voice breaks, and Brittany can see the way Santana is trying to hide from Quinn's words. It's something Brittany has seen happen with Santana over and over again, when confronted with something she doesn't want to think about or deal with. When they were younger, Santana would actually run away and hide. She would always have that same expression on her face that she does now whenever Brittany found her. "I can't stand the thought of it, okay? I—you know how I feel about you."

Santana sits in the silence and breathes, and Brittany is dying to see Quinn's face. But the stillness between them is thick, and Brittany is afraid that any movement will startle one of them, or cause some kind of damage.

"I can't deal with this right now," Santana says finally, her words curt and sharp. She turns abruptly and walks out, allowing the bathroom door to slap in its frame.

Brittany moves, finally, and she doesn't hesitate to wrap Quinn into a hug. She can feel Quinn's body expanding and contracting with the struggle to breathe, but otherwise, Quinn is calm. It only takes a moment before Quinn presses a soft, reassuring kiss at Brittany's throat, and then she draws away.

"That wasn't totally unexpected." Quinn says, exhaling. Brittany smooths a hand down Quinn's hair, using her fingers to pull gently on one of the curls on the end.

"Santana knows how you feel about her?" Brittany's voice is light and quiet, but the question makes Quinn look at her. Brittany sees apprehension in Quinn's face, and maybe a bit of guilt.

"I told her –when you first started dating Artie. I told her I wanted to be with her." Quinn says it in one long rush, as if it's something painful that she just wants out of the way.

Brittany nods slowly, thoughtfully.

"I want to be with you, too, Britt. I mean.." Quinn bites her lip. "When I was sick, I actually thought you wanted—but then.."

Brittany can tell that Quinn is confused, and that's an emotion that Brittany can empathize with. She just shrugs, and lifts a hand to cup Quinn's cheek gently. "I know how you feel about me, too."

Quinn's cheek is hot beneath Brittany's hand, but she nods and looks into Brittany's eyes.

Brittany takes a moment to just look, and wonder at the way that Quinn's eyes are a color she doesn't have a name for, and how the patterns in the irises constantly shift. Finally, she smiles, and Quinn smiles back tentatively.

"I've loved you since the first time I saw you, Quinn," Brittany says quietly, and honestly.

Quinn swallows thickly, and then nods.

"I wish I hadn't spent so much time being stupid," Quinn says with a little laugh. "I didn't know."

"I wasn't very good at hiding it," Brittany admits, with a bashful shrug.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Coming from Quinn, it sounds like a confession.

Brittany just shrugs. "Me either."

* * *

If Quinn didn't know better, she would think that Brittany gets a kind of sick enjoyment out of teasing Santana.

What Brittany doesn't seem to understand is that teasing Santana is also tantamount to teasing Quinn, and it's driving Quinn crazy.

The rest of the week is littered with lingering touches, suggestive looks, impish smiles – it starts a knot of tension in the pit of her stomach that goes home with her, day after day. Quinn hasn't had a chance to bring Brittany home since spaghetti night, but she's determined to spend the weekend working off some of the steam that Brittany enjoys creating.

"Tonight, Brittany," Quinn says with a bit of a desperate edge in her voice, "We're going to my house."

"Okay," Brittany says brightly. Today, Brittany is wearing the tightest skinny jeans Quinn has ever seen, and a longsleeved blouse that clings across her midsection and slopes down the long lines of her shoulders. For Quinn's part, she's wearing a knee-length billowy skirt and a white peasant top, but she barely notices anything beyond Brittany. The pair of them face each other at the lockers between third and fourth period, and Quinn sucks in a sharp breath when Brittany reaches out a hand to rest on the place between her shoulder and neck. Brittany's thumb stokes a low heat in Quinn as it rubs up and down the curve of her neck, and Quinn bites her lip when Brittany smiles.

Quinn is too distracted to notice Santana, who throws them a dark glare over her shoulder as she passes. Quinn barely remembers how to breathe, and when Brittany finally draws away, Quinn feels strangely cold – and all the nerves in her body are aching.

She spends the rest of the day feeling restless and edgy, and even something as innocent as Brittany's hand cupped in her palm makes her fingertips tingle. Brittany casually brushes a lock of hair away from her neck and rests her hand against the base of it, and Quinn has to resist the urge to arch into it like a cat.

Finally, when glee and Cheerios are over, and Quinn feels like she's wound so tight she's going to snap in half, she gets Brittany into her car and drives home at record speed. She doesn't allow Brittany the time to stop and talk to her mother – Brittany, unlike most teenagers, enjoys talking to parents for some insane reason – instead tugging her up the stairs with an incessant grip around her wrist.

"Where's the fire?" Brittany's laugh is playful and light, and Quinn closes the door behind her with a definitive click. She leads Brittany over to her bed and with gentle pressure to her shoulders, pushes Brittany onto her back on top of her plum colored comforter.

"Quinn," Brittany's voice is surprised, but the smile on her face is big, when Quinn climbs on top of her and rests her knees on either side of Brittany's hips. Quinn takes a moment to study Brittany's face, but when Brittany's hands snake up to grip her along her lower back, Quinn gives up the pretense of waiting and leans forward to press their lips together.

Brittany's hands rub at the flesh beneath her shirt, and the motions encourage Quinn to lean further into Brittany, pressing their bodies snugly together. Quinn supports herself on her elbows on either side of Brittany's head, and uses her hands to cup Brittany's face, the thumbs tracing lazy circles along Brittany's cheekbones. Their tongues meet after one long moment, and Quinn licks at Brittany's lower lip and then into her mouth. Brittany's fingertips press harder against her back, and now Quinn can feel the way Brittany is guiding her hips into a slow, deliberate rocking motion. It makes her heart flutter in her ribcage, an electric jolt straight through her body, and her breath strangles in her throat.

Their kissing is somewhere between gentle and fierce, tongues dancing lazily against one another, teeth scraping occasionally. Quinn is hyperaware of her breathing, the sound of it whooshing in and out of her nose, and she prays that Brittany can't feel the way her heart is pounding in her chest. Her nerves, already overtaxed, are throbbing in time with her pulse, and there's a swelling, nagging feeling gathering low in her body. Quinn is only mildly embarrassed that a few moments of kissing has done this to her – she's too preoccupied with thinking about getting Brittany naked, anyway – since, she feels, it's long overdue.

Brittany is shamelessly guiding her hips, rolling them, and it causes Quinn to grind into Brittany. Quinn's breath hitches. She breaks their kiss with a wet pop, opening her eyes to stare down at Brittany with swollen pupils and red, hot lips. "Britt," She whispers, and then she gasps when Brittany suddenly shifts them, sitting up abruptly, so that Quinn is straddling her lap. Brittany's palms are hot against Quinn's back, and the feeling of Brittany dragging her nails down Quinn's spine causes goosebumps to erupt up and down her arms.

Brittany kisses Quinn's jaw, and then down below her ear, and finally her lips part to lick against Quinn's neck. Quinn muffles a quiet moan, her hands tangling in Brittany's hair, and her hips rolling down of their own accord. Her skirt is in disarray around her legs, and the soft material of her panties is met by the rough fabric of Brittany's jeans, which is both delicious and unsatisfying all at once.

"Fuck," Quinn curses quietly, when Brittany bites down on the curve of her neck. She hisses in a sharp breath when Brittany sucks, and then soothes the spot with her tongue. One of her hands trails down Brittany's body, finding the hem of her shirt, and then her palm is flat against Brittany's stomach. The muscles quiver and jump beneath her hand, and she groans again when Brittany moves to a new spot, running her tongue against Quinn's pulse point.

Brittany bites down, hard, when Quinn's hand finds her nipple, and her fingers brush against it over the lace of her bra. Quinn moans again and then rolls her palm against Brittany's breast, squeezing, and Brittany sucks sharply, pulling Quinn even tighter against her.

"Oh my god, Brittany," Quinn is panting. She dips her fingers beneath Brittany's bra and scrapes her blunt nails over Brittany's nipple. Brittany's back arches and Quinn's neck vibrates with Brittany's muffled moan. "Take your shirt off." Quinn's voice is hoarse, and she doesn't even care that there's a desperate tremble to her words.

Brittany pulls away slowly, and Quinn is already trying to pull her shirt up when Brittany stops her by rubbing her hands up and down Quinn's arms.

"What?" Quinn asks, impatient.

"I don't think we should," Brittany says. Quinn doesn't miss the mournful way she says it.

"Why?" Quinn doesn't try to hide her irritation.

"It's not fair," Brittany says with a sigh. "If we can, and Santana can't."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Brittany, it isn't Santana you're driving up a wall every day."

Brittany flashes Quinn a wicked grin, and despite herself, Quinn laughs. "I mean it."

"I know." Brittany's hands are soothing, rubbing away the tension before it can even begin. "Still. We need to do this right."

Quinn sits back, slightly, putting some distance between their bodies. She runs a hand through her hair. "Britt, Santana and I did it plenty of times when you were dating Artie."

"Yeah," Brittany says thoughtfully. "But you never said I couldn't join in. I just didn't."

Quinn narrows her eyes.

Brittany smiles patiently, and continues running her hands along Quinn's arms. Quinn's fingers pick at Brittany's shirt hem restlessly, and she fidgets, keenly aware of the way Brittany's legs are still between her own. "Britt.."

"Quinn." Brittany says on a laugh. She leans forward to press a firm, reassuring kiss against Quinn's lips. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You're _killing_ me," Quinn says, scowling.

Brittany squeezes Quinn's elbows gently.

"Fine," Quinn snaps, and then slides reluctantly from Brittany's lap. She settles next to Brittany on the bed with a sigh, and straightens out her skirt around her legs.

"I highly doubt Santana is suffering in the same way I am," Quinn grumbles, frowning at her rose-patterned carpet on the floor. She scuffs her toes over it agitatedly. "She gets to sleep with Sam and get rid of her sexual frustration."

Brittany takes Quinn's hand in hers and then presses a kiss against Quinn's fingers. "Santana doesn't sleep with Sam."

Quinn glances over at Brittany, an eyebrow raised in surprise. "Really? She hasn't ever?"

Brittany shakes her head.

"I wonder why not,"

Brittany gives Quinn a carefully neutral expression. "Why do you think?"

Quinn shrugs. She runs her thumb over the back of Brittany's hand idly. "I have no idea, honestly,"

"Hmm." Brittany hums, and squeezes Quinn's fingers.

Quinn waits for Brittany to reveal the big secret, but she never does. Instead, she says, "What's for dinner?"

Quinn sighs, stands up, and begins fixing her hair in the mirror. "I don't know. Pizza?"

"Chicken and dumplings," Brittany replies at once.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "That will take hours to make."

Brittany grins. "Good."

Quinn just shakes her head and laughs. On their way out of the room, Quinn's eyebrows crease. "Hey, Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"Santana doesn't sleep with Sam.. but did you with Artie?"

Brittany hums again and nods her head.

Quinn scrunches up her face, and it's Brittany's turn to laugh.

"He wasn't bad at it."

"Gross."

Brittany grins at her. "Now you sound like Santana."

Quinn cocks her head, studying Brittany's face, trying to derive if there was some kind of double meaning behind Brittany's words. Before she can draw any conclusion, Brittany grabs her hand and pulls her along into the hallway and down the stairs.

* * *

Thankfully, Quinn's suffering is cut short. When they return to school the next day (after a night of kissing and roaming hands that ended in Quinn going to sleep frustrated and annoyed), Santana approaches her at their lockers, her face a mask of barely suppressed fury.

"Hickeys?" She hisses, throwing an accusing look to Brittany, who – heedless – is speaking to Mercedes a few lockers down.

Quinn doesn't say anything. She's had Santana's marks on her neck before, but never Brittany's, and she finds that both of them leave a different kind of ache. Santana's are usually dark purple and violent looking, the evidence of uncontainable passion; Brittany's are lighter, a pink ring that shows the imprint of her teeth, and seem more playful in some way.

Santana's eyes are sharp and snakelike, and Quinn flexes her jaw, keeping silent. Santana waits a moment longer, before she shakes her head and stomps away. Quinn recognizes why Santana is so irritated (but she has little sympathy for her, since it's Santana's fault they're all three in this mess), and she watches her go, biting her lip. Santana's ass looks fantastic in that tight black dress. It's a crime, really.

By the time she's had lunch with the rest of the glee club, she knows that something needs to be done – because she caught herself staring at Tina's chest and then checking out _Rachel_ when she stood up to throw her trash away – and she's seriously considering bribing Brittany into having a quickie in the Cheerios locker room (she still knows a secret way in), but Santana beats her to it.

"I did it," Santana announces, her arms folded over her chest and look of dark defiance on her face. Brittany, a few paces away, turns her head when she sees both of them standing together. Quinn tries to hide her shock, but her eyebrows still rise.

"I hope you're happy. I thought Trouty was going to cry into his French fries when I told him."

Quinn clears her throat, and glances at Brittany, who decided to join them. She links her arm through Quinn's and the motion makes Santana's face darken even more. "So, you win, Q."

"It isn't about winning, Santana," Brittany says.

"She's got you brainwashed," Santana mutters.

Quinn sighs.

"I don't want to fight anymore," Santana grumbles.

"You could have fooled me," Quinn returns.

"Look." Santana lifts her shoulder in a shrug. "Either way, you got want you wanted. So can we get out of here?"

"This isn't all about sex," Quinn's voice is low, and it makes Santana regard her with raised eyebrows. "You might try to make it be. But it's not."

"Please don't start with that crap, Q," Santana's words have an uneasy edge.

"It's enough," Brittany interrupts. She can see that the two of them are winding each other up, and not in a sexy way. It's relieving that Santana left Sam, and even though Brittany knows Quinn is right – that this isn't just about sex, no matter how much Santana would deny it – that too much, too fast, will just damage Santana. "For now. It's enough." She uses her palm to press gently against Quinn's arm, and after a brief moment, Quinn nods.

Tentatively, Santana reaches out, and Quinn is shocked by the vulnerability on Santana's face. It takes her less than a second to respond, and their fingers tangle together. Quinn watches the tension melt out of Santana's shoulders and neck, and the look of overwhelming relief makes Quinn's heart twist. A beat later, Brittany's free hand closes on top of theirs, and for the first time in what feels like ages, Santana smiles.

"I don't know how, but it always comes back to this." Santana whispers.

Quinn splits her gaze, looking between Santana's secret-dark eyes and Brittany's bright blue ones, and there are too many things flipping and swirling in her mind. _It always comes back to this_, Quinn thinks, _and it's enough_.

Isn't it?

* * *

Santana has been waiting for this.

She doesn't spend time analyzing her feelings. That comes part and parcel to being Santana Lopez; she doesn't deal with emotions in any way. Usually, they come and go in a flash anyway – here and then gone again before she has too much time to think about them. She can easily describe the way she felt when she spent a week watching Brittany touch Quinn so brazenly, and with a smirk; it was something between desire and jealousy. But what exactly was she jealous of? Brittany touching Quinn? Quinn kissing Brittany? Or the fact that she wasn't a part of any of it?

That's the type of thing Santana disregards – the _why_ of it. She knows that there's no escape from the feelings that wrestle their way through her with all the force of a hurricane, but what she can do is ignore them, push them aside, and move on.

It wasn't her proudest moment when she gave in to Quinn and broke it off with Sam. The way Santana rationalizes it is to admit that things with Sam were getting cold, anyway – his humongous lips remind her a little bit of wet worms having sex on his face, and kissing him was less and less appealing as the weeks went by. Santana isn't above it to admit that she hung onto Sam for as long as she did because he's a star member of the football team, and now that she isn't on the Cheerios anymore, she felt the need to be associated with someone on top.

Sam is probably the dorkiest guy to ever wear a football jersey anyway, and his coolness factor only registers whenever he keeps his mouth shut. It's probably better this way, to ditch him before he digs himself into a hole of geekdom that even her hotness can't save him from.

She doesn't want to imagine the rest of the school year without Sam as arm candy or the Cheerios to protect her; in her worst nightmare, she's getting slushie facials every day. At least they only have a few weeks before summer. Only a few weeks until Santana doesn't have to think about anything having to do with this miserable little school.

In reality, it's only been a few weeks since the last time Santana made love to Quinn and Brittany, but watching them be close without her made it seem like forever. That night, at her house, she lit the candles around her room again, like she did the first time. It was worth it to watch the way Quinn's face relaxes into one of the biggest smiles Santana had ever seen, with all of her teeth; and the way Brittany runs her hand down Santana's back makes her warm all over.

"Kiss her," Santana tells Quinn, and by the way Quinn smirks, she can tell that Quinn is remembering the first time Santana ever said that.

It isn't at all what she expected, however. Quinn cups Brittany's face with tenderness, and they look into each other's eyes long enough that it makes Santana's throat tighten. Anticipation mingles with some unnamed, uneasy emotion, and the seconds draw out before finally, Brittany tugs Quinn's face close to hers and their lips meet. The flicker of the candelight makes shadows dance on their skin, and their hair shimmers and glints gold. Santana watches, perhaps with more restraint than she's ever had, as Brittany's thumb sweeps over Quinn's cheekbone, and their lips part and come together again and again, tongues meshing together sluggishly.

Santana nudges beside Brittany, and gently slides between them on the edge of her bed. She pushes her left hand into Britt's hair, and the right into Quinn's, and she feels drunk and heavy when Brittany kisses her. It takes her breath away, to taste the clean, sweet flavor of Quinn on Brittany's tongue. It's always been one of her favorite things. She can't suppress the moan that rises in her throat when she feels Quinn lean in to kiss her neck, opening her lips against Santana's pulse point. It makes her heart jackknife in her chest, thudding out a stuttering rhythm.

Brittany kisses her until it's hard for her to breathe, until her lips are swollen and hot and her face is flushed and the air in the room feels thick. Quinn leaves a hot trail from her neck to collarbones and back up to below her ear, and the feeling of Quinn's tongue teasing the flesh there makes her lightheaded. Santana's fingers tighten involuntarily in their hair, and when she opens her eyes, she catches the feline smile that Brittany is throwing at her.

"Take your dress off," Brittany whispers.

Santana stands up slowly, and reaches down to peel her dress off. Quinn and Brittany do the same, discarding their clothing, and Santana reaches behind her and unclasps her own bra as well. Brittany smiles and turns around, tugging her hair over her shoulder, offering her back to Santana. Santana unsnaps Brittany's bra, trailing a fingertip down the plane of her shoulder blade. By the time she turns to Quinn, Quinn has already removed hers. The sight of Quinn naked except for her blue panties makes Santana's pulse quicken.

Santana doesn't know where she wants to begin – Quinn's eyes are dark and heavy in the half light, and the way she's biting her bottom lip has always driven Santana wild. But Brittany's hands are clever, and her long fingers are skirting down the line of her shoulder, teasing the inside of her elbow and down her inner arm.

Quinn makes the decision for her. She steps forward and cups Santana's cheek, and then with a smile she pushes Santana down against the bed. The mattress sighs beneath her weight, and Santana chuckles, scooting herself up the length of the bed. Brittany and Quinn climb on after her, crawling forward, and she grins at the sight of them.

Their hair makes a gold curtain around Santana's face. She can't explain why, but everything seems to be moving in slow motion, and - maybe because of the candle - the air seems to glow. She doesn't want to focus on the swelling in her chest, behind her heart; she doesn't want to think about how just looking at them makes her throat tighten, and a fluttering erupt in her gut. Santana just wants to feel them – she just wants to revel in the texture of their skin, the way their hair smells, the feeling of their lips on hers. The moment hangs, suspended, while both of them look down at her, and it's getting harder and harder to ignore all the churning, riotous emotions that swell up inside of her.

Quinn moves first, breaking the mounting tension. She presses her mouth to Santana's, and there's a kind of fierce impatience behind her kiss that Santana wasn't expecting. It quickens her, making her move beneath Quinn, a hand reaching up to cup her breast. Quinn licks into her mouth, scrapes her teeth over Santana's lips; a desperate heat builds low in Santana's belly.

Brittany's running a hand over Santana's body, her fingers drawing invisible patterns beneath her belly button, making her muscles jump. Santana's breath catches when Brittany's hand slides along her abdomen and then over her ribcage, fingertips teasing against the underside of her breast. She gasps, arching, when Brittany's palm finally meets her nipple, squeezing it gently.

"Santana," Brittany breathes, and she leans forward and licks along the curve of Santana's neck. Santana's hand comes up to rest along Brittany's side, holding her, while Quinn gathers her bottom lip in her mouth. Santana can hear her own breaths panting into the quiet of the room, and she can't help the way she moans and writhes against them.

Quinn breaks away and slides her tongue along the curve of Santana's jaw, and Santana grips at her, her hand gliding low, cupping her hip. Quinn's body undulates, and Santana can feel the graze of Quinn's torso against her. She sucks in a sharp breath when she feels Quinn's tongue on her earlobe.

It's almost too intense, this feeling. Brittany's mouth is sucking gently on one side and her hand is tweaking Santana's nipple, making her hips jerk, while Quinn sucks at her ear and her breath tickles goosebumps down Santana's skin. She feels like she's overheating. Her chest heaves with the effort to breathe.

"Fuck," Santana moans when Quinn dips a hand low on her belly. She bites her lip, and turns her face to Brittany, who drags her mouth slowly towards Santana's. Santana feels Brittany grab her wrist, and then guide it beneath her own underwear, and Santana grunts at the way her fingers slip against Brittany. Instinctively, her free hand plays with the hem of Quinn's panties, and then she dips beneath it. She feels clumsy and awkward with that hand, but a moment later Quinn moans against her ear and Santana forgets to worry about it.

Santana's fingers work against Brittany and Quinn in turn, sliding through them, slipping against their wetness. She gasps and pants, moaning when first one set of fingers, and then the other, find their way inside Brittany and Quinn. Brittany breaks away from their kiss to bury her face against Santana's neck, and a moment later, a second hand is cupping Santana. Quinn rubs gently against Santana's clit, even as her hips roll against Santana's hand, and Santana cries out when Brittany buries two fingers deep inside of her.

"Oh my god," Santana chokes out. Her breathing is harsh and desperate to her own ears, and she can hear the low, slick sound of her hands slapping against wetness, the way that Brittany grunts into her ear, the way Quinn pants against her. She isn't sure how she keeps the rhythm, but she knows that this is the fullest she's ever felt, and the feeling is almost too big to be contained.

"Fuck," Quinn moans, and Santana can feel Quinn's lips moving against her neck.

"Santana," Brittany breathes, her hips jerking onto Santana's hand, hard.

Santana feels everything inside her begin to impossibly tighten. Quinn's fingers move faster, and Brittany's push deeper, and she gasps breathlessly against them. Her body stiffens, and then quakes. It feels like shattering; like something rips through her, tearing her in half. A second later Brittany follows, sobbing against her neck. Quinn bites down on Santana's shoulder when it hits her, writhing down hard, grinding and panting mutedly against Santana's skin.

Santana can't describe how wonderful it is to feel them both shaking and holding on to her, to feel their heat wash down her hands and over her wrists. She closes her eyes against the way emotion wants to sting her, and tries to push it aside. But a moment later, Brittany pulls away and Quinn shifts, so that she's lying with her head on Santana's shoulder and her lips pressed into Santana's neck. Brittany murmurs quietly, using a hand to brush the damp hair away from Santana's face, and she kisses Santana carefully on the lips.

"I love you," Brittany says simply, and Santana's heart squeezes. She bites her lip and keeps her eyes closed.

"I love you," Quinn repeats, the words whispered into Santana's neck. Santana swallows, but she can't stop the tiny tears that squeeze out from behind her eyelids.

"Santana," Brittany wipes the tears away with her thumb.

"Say it," Quinn's hand is running lazily along Santana's abdomen.

"I love you, too," Santana whispers.

That night, neither one of them fight Santana for the middle. Instead, Quinn hugs herself against Santana, and Brittany throws her leg over Santana's waist. Santana watches as Quinn takes Brittany's hand and kisses her fingers, one by one.

Santana falls asleep listening to their hearts beat, and tries to ignore the way her own is mimicking them; how it's beating in time with theirs.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm so sorry for the delay! My life has been really busy since classes started. Forgive me!

Also forgive any mistakes in this chapter, because it's so unedited it isn't even funny.

Drop me a line on Tumblr if you want to chat about this or any of my other stories.

And please leave a review, I love hearing from you!


	10. Chapter 10

Quinn welcomes the summer with more anticipation and relief than she's ever felt before. The fact is, before her priorities changed, Quinn was the type of person who thrived in the high school environment. Without its social structure to prop her up, she found herself desperate and lonely (never mind the fact that she was most likely always intrinsically lonely, but unable to admit it to herself). Before Brittany and Santana, Quinn would spend the long, hot days cooped up in her parents' too-big house, with artificial air making her toes and nose prick with cold, while her mother and older sister went over Bible verses and did needlepoint and hummed hymns to themselves. The evening would bring with it her father, and the entire family would go through the parade of a dinner before Quinn would be able to finally escape into her bedroom, and silence, and most of all, loneliness.

Everything has changed for Quinn, because even if she were to stay home now, it wouldn't be like that. Her sister hasn't spoken more than three words to her since Quinn got pregnant, and she alternates visiting their parents every other week. Quinn's mother drinks, more than Quinn ever realized, and she doesn't want to spend too much time thinking about that or what it might imply. Without her father to fill in all the spaces, her house feels empty and echoes with the silence. Quinn feels like a ghost while she's there, and she imagines – only briefly – what it might be like to be cooped up there, without the benefit of escaping with her girls for days on end. The thought sends a shudder down her spine and a cold ball of fear grows in her belly, and so she pushes it away, and thanks God (sincerely) for Santana and Brittany, and Santana's parents who don't seem to care that they almost never leave.

The last few weeks of school had gone by in a whirlwind, and Quinn barely remembers it .The few things she does remember are little to report about: the junior prom, where she and Santana were both candidates for queen and where they both lost to Kurt Hummel. It didn't really bother Quinn, though once it was all she could think about – being crowned at homecoming, being elected prom queen. It used to be one of the most important things in her life, and even though something inside of her twinged with loss and regret, she decides not to dwell on it. There is always next year.

Santana, on the other hand, went almost _ballistic_ at the loss, and it made Quinn aware of something that she might not have been completely aware of before: that the person Santana is _now_ is quite a lot like the person Quinn Fabray was freshman and sophomore year, pre-baby. The realization startles and alarms Quinn, because she can't imagine any person more desperate and afraid, more obsessed with the approval of a society that wants to do nothing more than tear you down and rip you to shreds. Quinn let that girl go when she let her baby go, even though she was dug deep into her skin, burrowed into her very bone marrow. Sometimes Quinn still feels her, shifting around and whispering, but Quinn largely ignores her. She finds it much easier to do when she has Brittany's bright, curious eyes on hers or Santana's soft, smiling mouth against her lips.

The point of it is, Quinn has re-prioritized her life, and she appreciates things like Brittany doodling a dandelion on the back of her hand in sparkly gel pen much more than she does the esteem of her peers. Santana wanted to win the prom queen title so that she could prove she still had some kind of power in the school, some kind of pull. Quinn only ran because it was largely expected of her (she supposes she still does some things just for that reason) and because Santana made such a big deal out of it.. and when she lost, she was sad, but overshadowing that was the fact that Santana was absolutely _livid._

Quinn knew, in that moment, that Santana was a kind of ticking time bomb. That fact was driven home even more by their outrageous loss at Nationals. Santana bounced back quickly from her implosion and threw herself into rehearsals and practice, but it was all for naught: Finn and Rachel ruined their chances with their hormones. Quinn hadn't quite expected that Santana would take it so hard – she still called the glee club "a collection of mouth breathers with backne and a chronic case of puberty gone wrong" – yet she did, and it sent off another flare of warning inside of Quinn. Santana was under constant inner pressure to succeed, to stand out and be noticed, to be at the top of the heap, and every single time she failed, she was a little bit closer to snapping.

Quinn breathes a sigh of relief when summer finally comes, and they leave McKinley without a backward glance – for the time, postponing Santana's inevitable meltdown.

Their first few weeks of summer fly by in a blur, but unlike the last portion of the school year, Quinn tries desperately to cling to every single moment, grasping at the minutes which pass at a staggering pace. She finds herself smiling so much that her cheeks hurt, and she even thinks she might be opening her eyes wider, just so that no small detail goes by unnoticed.

In the beginning, Santana's family is around a lot more than they were the year prior, and Quinn finds herself fascinated by Santana's parents (who are both unusually busy people and have never had time to come to any cheer competitions or glee performances) and charmed by her younger brother, who seems to have sprouted half a foot in the last few months. Martin is gangly and awkward and Santana picks on him relentlessly, so much that her mother (who is so petite that Quinn can't imagine her ever being pregnant, let alone twice) scolds her in heated Spanish when it gets too out of hand. Santana's father watches it all with a wide smile beneath his thick black mustache, and although he doesn't say much, she can tell that he is just as enamored with his family as Quinn is.

Brittany knows the Lopezes almost as well as Santana does, and she joins Santana easily in things like teasing Martin and being disciplined by Maribel. Brittany, maybe more than Santana herself, gets Dr. Lopez smiling in the way that only Brittany has in making people smile. The thing about this particular talent of Brittany's is that she also has a way of making his face turn a lurid shade of red; his eyes darkening whenever she says something off color or hard to interpret. Quinn can practically hear him counting to himself so that he doesn't lose his temper Ricky Ricardo style.

Quinn isn't quite sure where she fits in with all of this, because they all seem to work as a seamless unit and she feels awkward and out of place during communal activities like Scrabble at the dinner table. The elder Lopezes don't say much directly to her, though she has caught Maribel speaking to Santana in a hushed voice (all in Spanish, anyway, so how could Quinn have understood what they were saying?) with her eyes trained in Quinn's direction. Quinn might have felt put off by it, but Maribel smiled when their gazes met, and when Santana turned to look over her shoulder, she laughed at the sight of Quinn standing there.

Another day found the three of them and Martin in the pool playing a furious game of water polo (at least that's what Brittany calls it; Quinn terms it _splashing and wrestling in the water with an inflated ball_) while Maribel lays out tanning and Dr. Lopez flips burgers on the nearby grill. A particularly vicious spike from Brittany (is it even called a spike in water polo? Quinn doesn't know) lands the ball square into Dr. Lopez's face, splattering the food with chlorine and rebounding off of the cement patio.

Santana and Martin nearly drown themselves laughing, while Brittany bashfully hides on the other end of the pool – as if swimming away fast enough gave the message of _not me not me not me!_ – and so it was left to Quinn to retrieve the ball. She eyes Brittany's retreating back before gliding towards the edge of the pool, but before she can heave herself out of the water, she's met with the image of Dr. Lopez looming over her, one hand fisted around a spatula and resting on his hip, while the other holds up the (now slightly deflated) ball.

"S-sorry, Dr. Lopez," Quinn squeaks. She has to cant her head back to look up at him, squinting. His apron is black and grease stained, and she can't make out his face because of the glare of the sun.

"Oh, _querida_, you can call me Steven," His voice is much more gentle than Quinn expects, and she can't help the way her eyes widen when he crouches down to hand her back their ball. She takes it, a little mystified, and then pushes herself away from the edge of the pool. Before she's made it half the length, Maribel's voice rings out, loud and scathing:

"Atch! You girls better quit your horseplay right this instant! Santana! You got your Papi's shirt all wet!"

"It wasn't _me!"_ Santana's voice hisses out. "It was Martin!"

"Hey!" Martin's voice cracks the word in half, and Quinn watches calmly as he attempts to wrestle Santana underneath the surface of the pool.

"It wasn't me," Brittany offers seriously, and simultaneously reaches towards Quinn and the ball.

"No," Quinn mutters, jerking it away from her.

"It was Quinn!" Brittany screeches.

"Oh my God!" Quinn's mouth drops. "It was _not!"_

"_¡Dios mío! _Enough, children!" Maribel is surprisingly loud for being so slight of build. Her voice cracks across the surface of the pool, and its velocity stops Santana in the midst of her attempt to become an only child. She releases Martin and then kicks away from him as he resurfaces, choking and sputtering.

"Come eat!" Steven's voice bellows out, and Quinn thinks it's the loudest she's ever heard him.

After their meal (her hotdog bun was slightly soggy but everything else no worse for the wear) both of Santana's parents elect to participate in a game of Marco Polo, and before long Santana is so caught up in trying to trick her dad (the very first 'it' of the game) that the rest of them give up the pretense of participating and just watch. Santana splashes him and giggles; darts beneath the water and taunts him mercilessly - all the time his face grows redder by the minute.

"You know, I'm glad you're here with us, Quinn," Maribel says in a low voice. Quinn turns, slightly startled to find the matron Lopez at her shoulder. "Usually if it's just us and Brittany, there's always an extra person, and the teams are never even." She gives Quinn a conspiratorial smirk.

At first, Quinn is struck by the imprecise way Maribel Lopez pronounces her name; it sounds somewhere between _Queen,_ _Keen_ and _Quim_, and it makes her react with an involuntary smile. She grins down at Santana's mother, and sees the same dark eyes Santana has smiling back. The moment passes; they both have to dodge away from bumbling, blind Dr. Lopez as he lurches their way, sloshing water. Santana splashes him from across the pool, and shrieks out "Polo!" when he turns furiously towards her. "Hey! No cheating, Dad!"

Quinn laughs when he finally catches Santana, grabbing her around the middle and plunging them both beneath the water so forcefully that waves lap against the edges. The game distracts her from her encounter with Maribel, so that it's long after the three of them have climbed out of the pool to lay together in a tangle of bodies on the cooling cement before she can really analyze it.

Then, with a sudden start, Quinn realizes the most obvious thing: there are no teams in Marco Polo.

Quinn lets it sink in, and then she thinks that perhaps Maribel was simply trying to communicate that she doesn't mind Quinn's presence. She knows that Santana's mother had said the words exactly, 'I'm glad you're here,' but Quinn has a hard time accepting it.

Because it hadn't sounded just like _I'm glad you're here._ It had sounded like _you're welcome here_ and _you're family here_ and _this is your home too._

Quinn knows that's crazy. She knows that certainly Maribel hadn't meant to convey all of that with her nonchalant statement.

But she can't shake the feeling that there was something more beneath the surface, something that Maribel had been trying to communicate without saying it outright. It makes Quinn's throat ache with a longing she hadn't even known she had when she lets herself believe, just for an instant, all those whimsical things she imagined.

Before she heard all of the things Maribel Lopez didn't say, Quinn hadn't even known that she yearned for them.

"What are you so quiet for, blondie?" Santana's voice is low and intimate in the fading light. Quinn angles her head and sees Santana over the plane of Brittany's stomach. She lies on her side with her head propped up on her fist, and Quinn can barely make out her features in the semi-darkness.

"No reason," Quinn says, and she's brought to the sudden realization that her bathing suit is sticking to her and her skin is prickling with cold. The wind shifts, sending a breeze, and flyaway strands of her hair blow against her face. Quinn uses the back of her wrist to rub at the beads of water collected on her neck.

"Do you want to make s'mores?" Brittany asks.

Quinn takes a moment, running her eyes over first Brittany's face, and then Santana's. What she sees there makes her stomach knot and her throat swell, and she smiles a wide, dopey grin at them in the half light.

"Sure." Quinn can't keep the warmth out of her voice. "Sounds perfect."

Brittany and then Santana smile, too, and Quinn knows that she has it all right here – her family and her home.

* * *

Quinn learns that Dr. and Mrs. Lopez usually spend the first month of the summer only working half days, so that they can spend time with their children. Once those weeks have passed, the Lopez house returns to its normal level of chaos without adult supervision (Martin likes to play video games in the family room, Santana likes to watch movies in the family room; the struggle between them is usually quite epic). Quinn has spent four solid weeks here, and though she occasionally gets weepy text messages from her mother that leave her feeling guilty, she can't imagine ever wanting to leave.

She knows that it has nothing to do with the house itself – which is large and modern, and much like her own, in regards of amenities and spaciousness and innate lack of character – and everything to do with the people inside of it. She could never get enough of Santana's grumpy morning face (and crazy bedhead) or Brittany's random art projects.

"So, I hate to ask because I know it's going to be completely lame and probably a little bit gay, but what did you two losers do that whole time you were bonding without me?" Santana asks with almost forced casualness one morning. The three of them are seated at the granite-topped kitchen island; Brittany is doing a puzzle while Quinn scrolls through her phone. Santana picks her thumb against an imaginary crack in the stone, the pretense of doing her makeup forgotten for the moment. Quinn looks at her, surprised, and then darts a glance at Brittany. Brittany's expression is murky, lingering somewhere between soft and unsure.

"What? Is it some kind of secret white girl thing?" Santana's shoulders bunch beneath the curtain of her hair, and it makes her seem defensive and on the borderline of angry.

"No," Quinn's voice is musing. Finally, Santana looks at her, and Quinn can see that her eyes are pinched at the edges and vulnerable. "Why don't we just show her, Brittany?"

Brittany's head turns to regard Quinn, first with a look of shock and then with a smile.

"Wanky," Santana says, but it falls flat, as if she is disappointed somehow.

"What are you hungry for?" Quinn asks, ignoring Santana's quip.

Brittany's grin widens, and she shrugs. "Pancakes."

"Brittany," Santana's eyebrows quirk above her eyes. She seems confused, and a little put off. "You _just_ ate a Hot Pocket, like, twenty minutes ago. No way are you hungry."

"Yes I am," Brittany states, and Quinn can practically see her winding up with excitement. She bounces once on the stool where she's seated, and then (as if she can no longer contain her energy) she shoves away from the island, the metal legs of the stool making a grating noise against the tile.

Santana gives Quinn a questioning look, but Quinn just smiles and (with a bit more dignity and much less scraping) steps away from her seat. Brittany has already leapt around the island and opened the refrigerator; she's piled a carton of eggs, milk and butter on the counter.

"This?" Santana seems skeptical. "This is what you did?"

Quinn shrugs, reaching above Brittany to pull down a mixing bowl from the cabinet. "Brittany likes to cook."

"I like to eat," Brittany amends, her head still inside the fridge.

"Definitely wanky," Santana supplies, this time with more confidence and a hint of relief.

"That's not really all of it, though," Quinn says with slightly raised eyebrows. She edges onto her tiptoes in order to pull down the baking powder from the top of the pantry, and she jounces on the balls of her feet because it remains just out of reach.

Brittany steps behind her, and steadies a hand against her lower back. Brittany reaches the baking powder easily, and Quinn suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she grabs the flour (which is located at a much more manageable height) and the pair of them step away, in tandem, to find Santana facing them opposite the island. She has her chin resting on her fist and a look of incredulity on her face.

"You two are completely ridiculous."

"Don't be a hater," Brittany smiles when she says it. Quinn just laughs, shakes her head, and then tugs her hair up into a loose ponytail. Typically, she is the one who cooks, while Brittany mills around and thieves bites and adds strange ingredients. She doesn't expect Santana to understand, because Santana finds all things she considers too "Martha Stewart" to be boring.

Quinn doesn't know it, but the way she and Brittany move around each other in the Lopezes' bright, sunny kitchen is mesmerizing to Santana. Santana _does_ think cooking is completely lame – perhaps one of the most lamest things ever – but watching her two favorite people do it takes the edge off of its boringness. She decides to sit at a stool and watch, because she finds it slightly fascinating. Brittany's hair spills down her back in the way it has, not quite pin-straight but far from wavy, and catches the occasional ray of light as it passes through the window. Quinn's hair is curly and riotous, and sways with her movements.

Quinn mixes the ingredients together while Brittany hovers near her, not doing much beyond watching over her shoulder. Santana isn't as astute about certain unsaid, physical things – not like Brittany is – but she can easily see the energy between them. She sees (maybe for the first time being totally aware of it) the way that Brittany has a need to be touching, and that she fulfills it in small, gentle ways; the side of a pinky brushing against the exposed skin of Quinn's elbow, or her pelvis against Quinn's hip. She moves fluidly around Quinn, who seems to absorb Brittany's attentions the way dry soil soaks up summer rain; she doesn't smile, quite, but Santana can see it in the muscles of her face, the way her lips relax at the corners and her eyes soften when she glances up. Brittany dips a finger in the mixing bowl when the individual ingredients turn into batter, and her smile is quick when Quinn brushes her away reflexively.

"Make me some," Santana says, just to see how her voice affects them. Brittany turns halfway to shoot her a pleased grin – the sort of thing that always makes Santana's stomach fluttery and her smile jump across her face – and at the same time, she closes the minimal space between her and Quinn, as if the two actions could draw the three of them closer together. Quinn's back is to Santana, so she can't see her face, but she watches her ponytail shimmer when Quinn angles her head.

Quinn flips the burner on and then sits a pan on top of it, and without saying anything, steps away from the stove. Brittany moves into her place and with quick, sure movements, she pours the batter into the pan, dipping the bowl once, twice, three times. She flashes a pleased smile at Quinn, who returns it, and then Quinn nudges her gently out of the way. Santana watches them watch the pancakes, Brittany's palm resting low on Quinn's back, and Quinn shifting her weight onto the leg that would angle her body closest to Brittany. Santana catches herself smiling and she isn't sure why.

The first three are for her, and Brittany takes pride in sliding them out of the pan onto a plate and then presenting them to Santana. Santana can't help the way she smiles into Brittany, because Brittany hovers close enough to kiss – but doesn't quite close the distance between their faces. It's so typical of Brittany that everything inside of Santana feels warm and bubbly, and it has nothing to do with the pancakes.

She takes her first bite just as Quinn pours three more pancakes, and before she can flip them, Brittany bumps her out of the way. Santana only pays half-attention to Brittany in front of the stove, and Quinn just shakes her head, folding her arms across her waist. "Are those _tomatoes?" _Quinn asks, her voice slightly resigned.

"Brittany, no," Santana says, but it's too late. Brittany has already added a handful of diced tomatoes to the batter, and she continues by adding cinnamon. "Gross."

Quinn shrugs in defeat, and allows Brittany to flip the pancakes. The next three slide onto a plate and Quinn stares at them, before giving Brittany a slightly pained look. "Mine?"

Brittany nods, and Santana laughs. "Whipped. Totally whipped."

"Shut _up,_ Santana," Quinn grumbles. She takes the seat next to Santana and doesn't bother with syrup, instead cutting into the pancakes dry. She grimaces with the first bite, but chews resolutely. Santana is too busy chuckling to notice that Brittany adds olives to hers. Finally, she joins them, just as Santana finishes and Quinn cuts into her second pancake.

Brittany doesn't bother with a fork, instead folding her pancake. Santana watches, a look of mild disgust on her face. "Britt, is that honey?"

"Yes." Brittany talks around her first bite. "It's good. Want some?"

"God, no," Santana shakes her head and takes her plate to the sink. She rinses it, as well as the frying pan and the mixing utensils. "You both are completely cracked."

"It's good to try new things." Quinn says.

"Coming from the girl currently choking down the world's worst pancakes," Santana loads the dishes into the dishwasher, and then begins putting away the ingredients.

"Not the worst," Brittany looks up, concerned, her pancake trailing honey. "Right?"

"No, not the worst." Quinn smiles. "They're good."

Santana snorts. "I wonder how many other disgusting things she's gotten over on you. It's pathetic, Fabray." The cabinet doors shut briskly. "You have absolutely no dignity when it comes to her."

"Oh, and you do?" Quinn just hands Santana her plate, not bothering with rinsing it herself.

"Yes," Santana rinses the plate in the sink. "You didn't notice her making _me_ bizzaro ass food."

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn leans against the wall, crossing her arms.

"Stop fighting," Brittany says, and hands Santana her plate. She leans in to press a kiss against Santana's temple, and then walks over to kiss Quinn's forehead. Quinn's face burns – like it does almost every time Brittany is this close to her – and she looks away. Brittany studies her for a moment, thoughtful, and then she tugs on Quinn's earlobe. "What did _you_ two do while I wasn't around?"

"I mean, mostly we fucked," Santana says, her voice tight. Brittany turns to regard her, and she presses the final button on the dishwasher that gets it going.

"That isn't true, Santana," Quinn says. "We did a lot of things."

"Like?" Brittany asks. She still has her eyes trained on Santana, who is watching the dishwasher do absolutely nothing.

"Sometimes we would read." Quinn says.

"Hmm." Brittany pinches her lips into her mouth. "Cooking is more fun."

Santana rolls her eyes and finally turns to face them. "It was lame."

"Santana." Quinn can't keep the edge out of her voice. "You like it when we read. In fact, you even—"

"That's enough, Q," Santana says, irritated.

"No," Brittany smiles, now, as if she figured out some secret just by watching Santana. That makes her irritation grow. "Tell me. Wait, show me."

Quinn smiles, too. "Yeah?"

"Sure." Brittany links their elbows together, and Santana rolls her eyes again. "Come on, Santana."

"This is probably more gay than cooking," Santana grumbles, but she follows them as they make their way through the house and then up the stairs. Quinn draws first Brittany and then Santana into Santana's bedroom, and she crouches down, digging through an overnight bag bearing the WMHS letters that has become a catch-all for her things. She fishes out a slim novel and shows it to Brittany.

"All right, whatever," Santana closes the door behind them, and then takes two rapid steps over to her bed. She settles down in the absolute middle and then pats both sides. "Get comfy."

Brittany takes a leap and then rolls to the far side, catching herself from falling over the edge by grabbing onto Santana. Santana yelps, but before she has time to protest, Brittany has already settled herself, so close that every part of them touch; their shoulders, hips, and thighs. Quinn reclines with much more dignity, shifting so that a pillow props her up slightly. She flips the cover of the book open, sparing a glance over at Santana and Brittany before beginning. Santana has her head nestled flat against the pillow, her eyes hooded and face relaxed, hair pooling about her head. It's an expression that Quinn recognizes from the summer before, when she first began reading to Santana. Brittany is much more animated, propped up and looking between them expectantly. It causes Quinn to flush, and clearing her throat, she begins.

It doesn't take her long to find a rhythm, and – like always – she becomes absorbed in the story, even though it's one she's read before. Beside her, Santana relaxes even further, shifting to rest a palm on Quinn's stomach, and edging close enough so that her temple presses into Quinn's shoulder. Brittany doesn't listen much to what Quinn is saying – though she has always liked being read to – but she enjoys the lull of her voice, and the sound of Santana breathing beside her. By degrees, Brittany relaxes, but instead of melting against Santana (as Santana has done to Quinn), she spreads out, taking up the extra spaces on the bed, her face aimed at the ceiling. Almost without thinking about it, she picks up pen from Santana's bedside table, and clicking it open, she turns to Santana. Santana barely reacts to the cold, almost ticklish feeling of Brittany running the ballpoint over her shoulder, though she squints every time Brittany hits a nerve or presses too sharply.

Before long, Brittany has covered Santana's shoulder, collarbone and the length of her arm with ink-colored spirals, squiggles that doodle into each other with random grace. Quinn looks up, at the end of the chapter, just as Brittany is tracing the last ridge of skin on Santana's pinky finger.

"Oh, Britt, if you were bored, you should have said," Quinn says. It takes Brittany a moment to notice that she isn't reading, and she looks up, almost startled.

"I'm not bored." Brittany smiles, then flips Santana's palm over, and runs the pen along it. Santana's face tenses, and she bites a lip.

"Tickles," Santana says.

Quinn chuckles and shakes her head, not quite believing Brittany's claim. She closes the book and sets it on the floor, and shifts into a sitting position. Santana grumbles at the position change, mostly because now she has to move.

Quinn, clasps her fingers together in her lap, and then carefully looks to Santana and then Brittany. Hesitatingly, she asks, "And you guys? What would you do – when you're alone?"

Surprised, Brittany looks up at her, and then down at Santana, whose eyes have grown wide.

"Lots of things," Brittany supplies, and for once she seems to be the one put off. It makes Quinn tense and uncomfortable to hear that tone in Brittany's voice, and she wishes suddenly that she had never asked.

"Let's show her," Santana says suddenly from between them. Quinn and Brittany look at her, now, both curious, and Santana slides away. She laughs, a short but full-throated laugh, and it makes a quizzical smile fill Quinn's face. Santana reaches down and tugs on Quinn's hands, pulling her forward. Then she looks to Brittany, who slowly unfolds herself from the bed.

"Come on," Santana grins, mischievously, fully enjoying both of their bewilderment. She takes first Quinn's, and then Brittany's hands and leads them out of the room.

* * *

"This?" Quinn laughs. She was skeptical at first, and was sure that Santana was being coy in order to get them naked, but Santana was completely serious. Quinn watches Santana lean over the large jet tub, adjusting the water, and then she pours bubbles from a bottle.

It takes almost no time for Brittany to slide in, resting against the back of the tub, and she smiles up at Santana, who continues to tweak the water until she's satisfied. Finally, she steps over the rim, and Brittany reaches up quickly to grasp her around the waist, leading her into a seated position between her legs. Quinn laughs, again, still somewhat disbelieving, but after Santana settles against Brittany's body, she glances up at Quinn.

"What are you waiting for, Q?" Santana asks.

Quinn makes a humming noise in her throat, and then tentatively climbs into the tub. She settles down, a bit awkwardly, facing away from Santana and Brittany. The water is almost too hot, instantly turning her skin pink, and the bubbles smell like lavender and vanilla. She shifts so that she can sit against the edge of the tub, without pressing into the nozzle, and she feels someone's thighs against her feet.

"Baths," Quinn says, musing.

"Yep." Santana grins, lifting her arm up, bubbles and water sluicing down the length of it. Brittany smiles and rubs her palm up and down it, smearing the bubbles into Santana's skin, trying to erase the doodles. "Better than cooking."

Quinn grins and shrugs.

"I like them both." Brittany murmurs. Quinn feels a foot – Brittany's, most like – slide against the outside of her thigh, and she smiles. "And reading, too,"

"Me, too," Quinn chuckles.

Santana just hums, sliding her body closer to Brittany's, and she turns her face, to rub her nose along the line of Brittany's neck.

"Which is your favorite?" Brittany asks, prompting Santana.

"Mm." Santana smiles, lazily. "All of it, I guess."

Quinn and Brittany make eye contact over Santana, who seems oblivious to it. The pair of them smile, and Quinn knows Brittany considers her admission a kind of triumph.

Quinn, too, feels something swell up inside of her, warm and gentle at first, but accelerating by the moment; it fills her chest, travels down her nerves to tingle her fingertips. It makes her grin like an idiot at Brittany, whose face crinkles in response.

_This is the perfect day_, Quinn thinks, and she knows with absolute certainty that it's the truth.

* * *

Santana isn't startled out of sleep, so much as gently roused out of it. She swims to the edge of consciousness, only dimly aware of her surroundings at first. She shifts, and the feeling of lips along her shoulder makes her smile, and the warmth of another pair of lips on her neck makes her voice crack on a small moan. "Mm, good morning," She husks out, and then cracks her eyes open. She's greeted by the sight of Quinn and Brittany hovering over her, both of them smiling oddly satisfied, feline smiles. She reaches towards them, wanting to put her hands against their cheeks, but she's stopped abruptly by something wrapped around her wrists. Alarm bells start going off the second she tugs, again, and meets resistance – and she notices for the first time that her arms are pinned above her head, tied to her headboard.

"Britt," She laughs, slightly concerned but trying to play it off. "Q. What's going on?"

"Happy birthday, Santana," Brittany smiles around her name.

"You know what I've noticed?" Quinn asks slyly, and with gradual awareness, Santana notices that both of them are naked. The light in the room is dim – indicating that it's somewhere in the hours between when they fell asleep and full light; she glances sharply down when she feels something move against her abdomen, and she spies Quinn's fingertips brush around her pelvic bone, then across the span beneath her belly button.

"What's that?" Brittany asks brightly. She can't keep the smile off her face, and she uses her knuckles to skim along the edge of Santana's jaw, running the pads of her fingers beneath Santana's ear.

Santana wriggles slightly, increasingly nervous with her inability to move.

"Santana is lazy," Quinn says with a smirk. "She never says our full names. She calls you 'Britt," Quinn flashes her a grin. "And me! I'm just a letter. 'Q.'"

"Quinn," Santana says, with measured annoyance. "Brittany. What are you doing?"

"Giving you your birthday present." Brittany grins, and then leans down to scrape her teeth along the same skin that her fingers had previously occupied. The sudden heat and sharpness makes Santana inhale quickly, biting on her bottom lip.

"That's very nice," Santana manages, trying to breathe evenly. "But you should untie me. So I can, you know, participate."

"Oh no," Quinn smiles, and she leans in, stopping just a breath away from Santana's face. "No. This is all about you."

Santana feels tension coiling inside of her, because Quinn's lips are full and red, and hover in the brief space between them. Brittany works her mouth along the crevice of her neck, drawing a liquid heat down her skin. Santana swallows a moan; she feels too vulnerable to give in, with Quinn staring at her, watching her squirm. "Q," She pleads, and doesn't know exactly what she's pleading for.

"Santana," Quinn echoes, her voice heavy with smug satisfaction. She presses her lips gently against Santana's – feather-light, and it makes Santana's lips tremble.

Quinn moves her mouth to the corner of Santana's, her kisses firmer now, and then she takes them slowly around and down, until her lips press beneath Santana's ear.

Brittany is rough and insistent on the other side, using her teeth and tongue, sucking feverishly against her pulse; Quinn is gentle and soft, her lips whispering, teasing. Santana gnaws on her bottom lip and tries hard not to writhe, but her body betrays her quickly – the fire building inside of her is intense and rapid. Her pulse pounds in her ears, a heady, steady beat, while a throbbing takes place between her legs. Santana pinches her knees together and tugs restlessly at her wrists, trying – but not – to get free.

Santana moans, finally, and arches when Quinn's tongue licks out, velvet and hot against her earlobe. Brittany smiles into her neck and then kisses along her jaw, tracing the path to her mouth. Santana is nearly frantic, hungry for the sensation of lips to lips, but Brittany – like Quinn – holds back, her face so close that Santana can feel her breath on her skin. When Santana opens her eyes, she sees Brittany's, a dark blue, staring at her intently, and Quinn's tongue elicits another moan from her.

"Okay," Quinn says suddenly, pulling away. Brittany's smile is quick and effortless, and she leans forward to press a fast, hard kiss to Santana's lips. It's almost bruising, but it's over before Santana can even begin to enjoy it.

"What we're going to do.." Quinn begins, drawing away from Santana. "We're going to take care of each other first. So we don't get too distracted."

"Yeah." Brittany edges upwards, too, and Santana misses their warmth. For the first time, she realizes that she's naked, too – how in the world did they undress her _and_ tie her up while she was sleeping?

"We know how much you like to watch.. so." Quinn grins at Santana, and then lifts herself over Santana, climbing closer to Brittany. The pair of them crawl towards the vacant bed space.

"No," Santana tries to keep the edge of want out of her voice. "That isn't a present. That's just torture."

"Try to relax." Quinn is enjoying every minute of this, Santana can tell – and Brittany giggles, flashing her a look over her shoulder.

Relaxing is absolutely the last thing on Santana's mind. She gets that familiar pang low in her stomach when Quinn cups Brittany's cheek, and Brittany grins down at her, grabbing her by the waist. They kneel directly in front of each other, and Santana has to cant her head to see them. She actually has a great view – she sees the way they breathe into each other, the playful smile on Brittany's face, and the coy, somewhat flirtatious one on Quinn's. They pause together, hands holding one another, long enough that even Santana can feel the tension between them.

Finally, Brittany kisses Quinn, and it makes every nerve in Santana's body jolt with want. She feels a tug, white hot, start at her breastbone and work its way down the center of her body, joining the throb between her legs; she wriggles, biting her lip, but she can't help the warmth that gushes through her when Quinn moans into Brittany's mouth. Part of it, for Santana, is that she can imagine what Quinn and Brittany both taste like – she knows what they feel like – and she can practically feel their warmth against her, rushing through her, all at once. It drives her crazy. Santana can never last long while watching them, and they know it; she feels like they prolong their kissing, drawing it out, making it heavy and slow and hot in order to make Santana drip with lust. She wants to touch and taste and smell, and the fact that she can't makes her restless and edgy.

Brittany breaks first, and her hand, low on Quinn's hip, begins drawing circles low on her pelvis. It makes Quinn grunt, and she grinds her hips forward, using her own hands to steady herself against Brittany. Brittany grins, breaking their kiss, and then she fuses her mouth onto Quinn's shoulder. Quinn moans again, and Brittany's body jerks with the force of Quinn pulling her close, roughly. Santana can see Brittany moving her mouth closer to Quinn's neck, and her head falls back. She runs her hands up the plane of Brittany's body, palms skimming her ribs, until she cups both of Brittany's breasts. It makes Brittany groan into her neck, and she bites down; Quinn's hips rut forward again, insistently, and something like a whine escapes her lips.

"Fuck," Santana squirms helplessly where she lies. Her wrists slip and slide easily within their binds – she thinks they're probably the ties from a couple robes – but the knots hold. She feels her own wetness leaking out and down, slicking her thighs. It makes it impossible to get any kind of friction. Her lungs struggle to breathe, sucking air in, and she feels like every inch of her skin is on fire.

"Brittany," Quinn breathes, and she palms her breasts again. "Brittany, touch me."

Brittany lifts her head and fits her mouth against Quinn's, and finally slides her hand lower, reaching between Quinn's legs. It makes Santana buck and jump, her own muscles quivering in response.

Santana doesn't have a great view of it, but Brittany starts up a rhythm, the force of it bouncing the mattress. Quinn groans and buries her face into Brittany's neck, and then with effort she slides her own hand down between them. Brittany grunts, edging her legs apart, welcoming Quinn's hand.

Santana feels like she's dying by degrees, just watching them. Their sounds fill the quiet of the room, and steadily they increase their pace, until their arms are slick with sweat, pumping between them, making their bodies heave and weave. Santana doesn't know how it's possible that they're still upright, but they seem to be supporting each other. Quinn cries out first, gasping, her moans muffled into Brittany's skin, and while she trembles and shakes, Brittany crashes over the edge as well – a sound that has sent shivers down Santana's spine for years tears from her, and it makes Santana _want_ more fiercely than she ever has.

"God," Quinn croaks, her ribs heaving against her skin. Santana feels moans strangling in her throat, and she writhes against nothing, while the two of them cleave to each other and breathe.

Brittany nudges her lips against Quinn's temple, and then down to her mouth. They both smile into the kiss, and that does something else to Santana: it ignites a different kind of warmth, the sort that surrounds her heart and makes it stutter in her chest.

They peel away from each other slowly, and both of them have that dazed, sated look that always gives Santana a sense of pride and accomplishment. Usually she can claim that at least one of them feels that way because of her – and she feels oddly bereft at knowing she had little to do with either at this point. But those thoughts are chased away the second they crawl towards her, and Santana is enveloped immediately by their scent: it's heavy and musky, and something else – something she can only describe as _golden._ It hangs about them, and Quinn gives Santana no warning before she crashes their mouths together almost brutally. Quinn lifts her leg and straddles Santana, both of her hands framing Santana's face, while her lips and teeth work her into a frenzy. Santana moans unabashedly when Quinn settles and Santana can feel wet heat slick against her stomach.

"You're so fucking sexy," Quinn breathes it quietly against Santana's swollen lips, which are hot and tender, and Santana moans, arching into her. Brittany's hands rub against Santana's thighs, parting them, and Santana's muscles tighten in anticipation. She knows the instant she feels Brittany's breath against her what's coming – and just the thought of it makes her moan. She knows, dimly, that she's too eager and that it should be embarrassing, but she's too wet and swollen and throbbing to care right now.

"You remember when this first started?" Quinn is whispering, and her palms come up to rub over Santana's nipples. "Do you?" She tweaks a thumb over one.

"Yes," Santana gasps. Right at that moment, Brittany's tongue flashes out, sliding first up, and then down, and Santana whines desperately.

"You used to talk a good game, Santana," Quinn muses quietly. Santana can feel the lithe length of her, their torsos rubbing together, making her skin slick. "About what you were going to do to me."

"Q," Santana can't think straight. Brittany kisses every possible inch of her, and it makes everything worse – because it's not quite enough, not quite, and she wants it so badly that she practically aches. At the same time, Quinn is squeezing and rough and hard, too hot and fierce, and the two things are making it impossible for her to focus on anything other than feeling and wanting and needing.

"You want to know something?" Quinn asks, her lips grazing Santana's earlobe. Santana groans. "When Brittany's done, I am going to fuck you _so hard_," She hisses, and at the same time twists Santana's nipple between her thumb and forefinger. Santana's throat clenches, and at the same moment Brittany's tongue finds her clit.

"It's going to hurt," Quinn promises, her nails scratch against Santana's ribs. Santana arches, writhing, because Brittany's lips close around her clit and suction – coupled with Quinn's breath on her ear, and Quinn's nails on her skin – causes Santana to shake, undulating beneath Quinn. "You're going to scream."

Santana's vision goes white when she finally explodes, her body freezing for only an instant before she sobs, bucking wildly. Quinn grinds into her, and holds her, and Brittany's hands clutch at Santana's hips. Santana can't describe it, the feeling of flying so high and falling so hard, with Brittany's mouth at her most intimate part, with Quinn's body – soft and solid – atop of her. An indescribable but incredible emotion, and her heart thunders and crashes in her ribcage.

Quinn kisses Santana's lips, which are parted in an effort to breathe, and then she climbs off of her. Santana is limp and fluid, and she barely registers that they have swapped places. Quinn's warmth is replaced with Brittany's – a longer, more fluid weight, and her hair is a honey curtain around them.

Santana's eyelids flutter, but before she can open them, Brittany kisses first one and then the other. "Happy birthday, Santana," Brittany whispers.

Santana's legs are weak and wobbly, and she feels almost too sensitive, but Quinn nestles between them anyway. She sits on her knees, and draws her fingers in gentle patterns on the soft skin of Santana's thighs. Santana moans, but Brittany cups her cheek and kisses her softly and fully, like the way Brittany always has.

"I love you."

Brittany's tenderness has always made Santana tremble, and in this moment she feels entirely too weak. But Quinn doesn't let Santana fall apart, like she normally would, because at that moment she slides first one finger, and then another, into Santana.

"Oh, baby," Brittany murmurs, because Santana tenses and arches up, her legs falling apart, and Santana knows that Brittany is watching her face. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

"Holy fuck," Santana's voice is hoarse. Quinn puts her full weight behind her hand, and she fills Santana up more than she ever has, pressing deep. Santana's hips roll into Quinn, and then she lifts her legs, wrapping them around Quinn's waist. Quinn pulls back, and then in again, harder this time, making Santana grunt.

"I can't," Santana's voice breaks. "Quinn, I can't—"

"Shh," Brittany hushes her, running a thumb along her bottom lip. "Pretty girl."

"Oh my god," Santana moans, because Quinn has picked up her pace rapidly, and now her body is shaking with the force of it. The noises ring out; loud, wet slapping, and all three of them move in the same rhythm against it.

It takes almost no time, because Quinn is pounding into her so furiously and so quickly that it tightens her belly in a white hot flash. Brittany continues to murmur gently against her, and she strokes her cheekbones, their faces close together. Brittany watches as Santana comes undone, her body shuddering and grinding hard into Quinn, lips trembling.

Quinn keeps up the rhythm, a hard, relentless thrusting, and then she adds another finger. It makes Santana moan, and then finally – finally, like a flood that bursts through the gates – she spasms, and her throat catches on a scream. Quinn works out Santana's last few shudders, and the instant her body goes limp, Quinn stills. Brittany presses soft, light kisses on Santana's face, her cheekbones and nose and lips.

Slowly, Quinn slides out of Santana, and she settles into the space next to Santana. Santana's body feels light and slightly feverish, her skin sticky with sweat; she pants, gasping in breaths.

Quinn offers Santana her wet fingers, and Santana obliges, tasting herself on Quinn. Quinn's breath catches – a soft, whispery noise – and, despite everything, Santana still feels herself tighten in response.

"Best birthday ever," Brittany murmurs.

Santana grins, too weak to chuckle.

"I love you," Quinn says, and now there is nothing left to distract Santana from that squeezing in her chest.

She takes a breath, and lets it out. She slowly opens her eyes, and looks between them, her vision bleary. "I love you." A tiny, almost timid smile. "Both of you."

"Santana, you're such a softie," Brittany says.

Quinn just smiles, and she rests her head on Santana's chest. Her palm settles above Santana's breast, right where her heart is.

Brittany kisses Santana's temple, and then her cheek.

Santana doesn't know why, but she thinks that this might be one of the most perfect days.

And not just because of the sex – though, really, that was outstanding. She would never admit it, especially not to Quinn (who, Santana is sure, probably orchestrated the whole thing), but it was pretty mind-blowing.

No, it has much more to do with the feeling that slides around beneath her skin and into her bones, settling somewhere deeper, somewhere more visceral inside of her.

Santana doesn't know what to do with that. It pulses and beats along with her heart, and it circulates to every part of her body, intrinsic and encompassing, like blood or oxygen, but perhaps more vital; perhaps more dangerous if lost.

She is too tired, too spent and exhausted, to spend time thinking on it, so for once, she doesn't – she doesn't let the fear, usually immediate and intense, build; instead she wishes it away, and – for once – it goes.

Santana is unafraid when Brittany loosens her knots and her arms come free. She drapes one over Quinn, and another over Brittany.

Most of the time, Santana tries to push them away, and she does everything she can to keep them at a distance. Right now, though, she draws them in, pulling them closer to her. Her arms hold them, and – for now – she is not scared or anxious. She is oddly at peace, and – strangely, she thinks, she might be sort of, a little bit, happy.

* * *

**A/N**: I want to thank all of you for being so patient in waiting for this. I hope to be updating more frequently, but my life is increasingly busy. This is also unedited, but I hope you like it anyway. Leave me a review if you like!


	11. Chapter 11

Quinn thought she was done being surprised by Brittany.

Although she is definitely more quirky than Santana, Brittany is still, in her own way, the more predictable one. That's something that Quinn considers a comfort, because – when Santana is smiling one moment and raging the next – she can always count on the steady, gentle rhythm of Brittany. Quinn knows that she isn't the most emotionally reliable person, either; she understands that, when looking at the unstable things in Santana, it's sort of like looking at a reflection of herself – and so it makes her appreciate Brittany, and her inherent simplicity.

The first time in a long time that Brittany surprises her is during Santana's seventeenth birthday party. She somehow missed it last year – she thinks Santana probably deliberately avoided telling her about it, as it fell on a day she spent with her mother at church – but this time, Quinn is present for what is, she's sure, to be a bit of culture shock.

"There's a reason why I never invited you to these things, Q," Santana says, sidling up to her. It's late morning, but already sweltering hot; Quinn sits in the back corner of Santana's shaded patio, watching as the crowd in the Lopezes' backyard grows by the minute. The three of them had left the comfort of Santana's bed to be greeted by the sounds of about a dozen of Santana's younger cousins chasing each other around her living room, and Martin wrestling loudly with yet another cousin more his own age, and her mother and what Quinn assumes is Santana's aunt hollering at them from the kitchen. Quinn has never seen so many people who look so alike in one place – it's a veritable flood of tanned skin, dark eyes, and glossy black hair.

Quinn is wearing a white tank top and jean shorts over her bikini, while Santana and Brittany have foregone the outer layers. Instead, Santana wears a black swimsuit, Brittany red, and it makes Quinn feel both overdressed and embarrassed because she can't stop watching them walk around in practically nothing. She prays that none of the multitude of Santana's family members notice her leering.

"It's fine," Quinn says, her voice a little unsure. She doesn't really know if it's _fine_ because she can hardly understand anything that's being said, and she feels like she sticks out rather painfully. Even Brittany – just as blonde and fairskinned as Quinn is – blends in more, because she plays soccer with Santana's cousins and steals hot dogs from the grill, where Santana's dad and uncles are gathered. "And I used to think being at Brittany's house was bad." Quinn admits after a moment.

Santana just laughs. "It _is_ bad," She smiles down at Quinn and tugs on her earlobe. "Her little sisters make at least as much noise as ten of my cousins."

"I doubt that," Quinn says wryly.

"You can still duck out, you know," Santana smirks. "You already gave me my present, after all."

"No." Somehow, Quinn manages a smile. "I'm okay. This is fun."

Santana pauses, pursing her lips, and her eyes sweep Quinn's face. Quinn's smile widens, as if trying to reassure Santana. "Suit yourself, Q." Her grin turns a little wicked at the way Quinn's face falters. "Your funeral."

Quinn swallows at the sight of Santana walking away in such a way that she's absolutely _certain_ is designed to make her stare. Quinn fans herself with the flat of her palm, feeling suddenly very warm, despite the shade.

She spends a while just people watching, and (like she has been all summer) finds herself falling in love with the Lopez family. Dr. Lopez – Steven – retains his quiet and dignified demeanor, even wearing a greasy black apron with _Hot Papa_ embroidered in red over his midsection, though his mustache twitches with suppressed irritation at the way Brittany runs around like a ten-year-old boy. His brothers? cousins? crowd around him and speak with emphatic hand gestures in rapid Spanish, and he nods soberly whenever someone pauses for his input. Quinn doesn't know why, but she finds him charming because he's so reserved when everything around him is a veritable chaos of movement and noise. She finds herself grinning stupidly at the sight of him hunkering down to offer a little girl a piece of cheese from the plate at his elbow. She smiles up at him cheekily, and clutching a stuffed giraffe, runs away when he bops her nose, shoving the cheese slice in her mouth with her open palm.

Martin takes almost no time to dare the older boys to cannonball into the pool, which causes all of the adults to hiss with agitation. The waves rock against the edge while water sprays everywhere, and a moment later Maribel sticks her head out of the sliding glass door to yell at him.

Quinn didn't catch what, precisely, she yells at him since it's mostly Spanish, but it's enough to wipe the smile off of his face. He just nods solemnly at her and she slams the glass door shut. Quinn tries to hide her grin because – well, she feels bad for him – but she loves seeing the tiny Mrs. Lopez get all fired up like that.

_"__¿Cómo te llamas?__" _

Quinn is too caught up in watching the drama unfold between Martin and his mother to notice the little girl sneak up on her. She starts, a little surprised at the voice, but then smiles when she sees the same little girl from before standing at her side. The girl scratches her nose and sniffs a little bit, and seems to be patiently waiting.

"What's that? Oh – my name!" Quinn smiles. "I did take three years of Spanish. I know that one. My name is Quinn. What's your name?"

"You speak _Engdish,_" The little girl says, almost accusingly.

"Yes, that's true," Quinn is a little thrown off by the seriousness of the child's expression. "How old are you?"

"Four!" She holds up her whole hand, palm out, pudgy fingers wiggling. "How old are _you?"_

"Seventeen." Quinn laughs, and uses her finger to fold down the little girl's thumb. "That's four."

Scrunching up her eyebrows, the girl looks at her hand, and then shakes her head.

"Are you Santana's cousin?" Quinn found conversations with children were easy before Beth – and she discovers, with a bittersweet pang, that it's still true.

The little girl nods, and hugs her giraffe close. "I'm Bonita."

"That's a very pretty name," Quinn says. She has to resist the urge to run her hand down the span of the girl's hair – it runs almost the full length of her back, and is a soft, downy brown. It glints against the midmorning sun. Her eyes are wide and tawny-colored, and Quinn thinks that, with time, she'll grow into her lips (which are wide and full, like Santana's).

"What are you doing, squirt?" Brittany comes up behind Bonita and pokes her in the bicep.

Scowling, she yanks her arm away and squeezes her giraffe, throwing a glare at Brittany. "Brinny!"

"Madelina!" Brittany laughs, and then runs her fingers across the girl's ribs. Despite herself, she squeaks with laughter and wriggles away.

"Madelina?" Amused, Quinn glances between the two of them. "I thought you said your name was Bonita."

"No!" She refuses hotly. "I said I am _bonita._ Duh."

Brittany chuckles and plops down beside Quinn in one of the patio chairs. "Stop lying, you little rascal."

"_No estaba mintiendo,_ _ella es una estupida_," Madelina replies, squinting.

"Hey." Brittany frowns and then pokes her, this time with some force. "Stop that. Be nice."

Madelina shrieks and dances away from Brittany. "Mama! Brinny is being _mean!"_

Laughing, Brittany swats at her until she runs away.

"She's cute," Quinn says, once she's gone.

"No, she's a brat," Brittany uses the palm of her hand to rub at the tension settling at the base of Quinn's neck. Quinn relaxes almost instantly into the touch, glad for the feeling of Brittany's strong fingers kneading against her hot skin.

"She's a baby," Quinn says with a smile.

"Quinn." Brittany looks at her seriously. "I hate to inform you, but babies are a _bunch_ smaller than Madelina and they don't lie about their names. They, like, can't even talk."

Quinn huffs out a laugh and shakes her head. "I think you're right, Britt,"

Brittany nods, her eyes a little wide. "Didn't you _have_ a baby, Quinn? Shouldn't you know all of this?"

Quinn's smile falters, only slightly, but then she nods. "Definitely."

Brittany's face breaks into a wide smile, and it warms Quinn from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers. "It's okay. Sometimes I forget important things, too."

Quinn squeezes Brittany's free hand in her palm.

Their silence is broken by a collective shout that takes up among all of the people gathered in the back yard, and curiously, Quinn angles her head around Brittany, to see someone being ushered in from the front of the house.

"Oh! Santana's grandma is here. You'll love her!" Britany smiles widely and hops up, tugging on their clasped hand as she goes. "C'mon, come meet her!"

"Brittany," Quinn tries to pull away, but Brittany pulls her along, heedless of her mild protest. Within moments she's shoulder-to-shoulder with Brittany and one of Santana's cousins, milling around the aging, withered woman who looks remarkably like Santana's mother. Quinn plasters her bright, polite, meeting-adults smile on her face, all the while taking in the severe features and bright red lipstick that provide a stark contrast against her thin skin and nearly maroo-colored hair.

"Abuelita!" Santana appears out of almost nowhere, and slings an arm around her grandmother's shoulders. Despite this, the woman doesn't smile. Her eyes scan the crowd of people surrounding her, and her lips tighten together.

"Where is she? Where is my_ luciérnaga pequeña_?"

Laughing, Brittany steps away from Quinn and forward, pushing past one of Santana's uncles. _"__¡Estoy aquí, abuela!"_

Quinn watches, a bit mystified, as the old woman's face lights up in a broad grin. She reaches up and uses her bony hands to collect Brittany's face between her palms, pulling her forward until she can kiss Brittany squarely on the forehead. "_Te extrañé, mi niña!"_ Chuckling, she pats Brittany's cheeks. "Don't stay away so long!"

"_Yo también te extrañé_!" Brittany replies, and wraps the small, frail woman up in a hug.

Quinn's jaw drops. "You know _Spanish?"_

She's too stunned to realize that she spoke, until Santana's grandmother levels a scowl at her.

"Of _course_ she does!" She says, her tone of voice implying a grievous insult. "And who are you?"

"Uh," Quinn swallows, noticing that her mouth is suddenly dry. Santana grins at her from behind her abuela, and Brittany smiles sunnily, with an arm still resting along the woman's shoulders. "I-I'm Quinn. It's nice to meet you,"

"Hmph," Abuela sniffs, scanning her eyes up and down Quinn. "You're too skinny."

"I…" Quinn glances down at herself, and then tugs futilely at her tanktop. She doesn't know if that's an insult or a compliment, so she decides to answer as safely as possible. "Okay."

"Eat something," She waves a dismissive hand at Quinn, and then turns to Brittany, taking one of Brittany's hands in her bony one. "Now, tell me, _bicho,_ what have you been up to?"

Brittany launches immediately into a story about her cat that Quinn has heard a million times, all the while leading Abuela over to one of the chairs out of the sun. The crowd around her disperses almost immediately, and Quinn stands, rooted in one spot.

"I told you," Santana says with a satisfied smirk. She presses a reassuring palm against the small of Quinn's back, and Quinn turns to her slowly, an expression of disbelief on her face.

"Brittany knows _Spanish? _How?"

Santana shrugs. "My grandmother taught her."

"Yes." Quinn's eyebrows furrow, wrinkling her forehead. "So she said. But how can I not have known that?"

Santana just smiles, tugging at her bottom lip in amusement. "Sometimes I think she speaks it better than I do."

Quinn folds her arms across her chest, her eyes still glued to the sight of Brittany regaling Santana's abuela.

"Impossible. It's impossible that I didn't know that." Quinn really can't wrap her mind around it. "She almost failed Spanish last semester!"

Santana offers a wide shrug to that. "Brittany says that she can't listen to Mr. Schue teach it because he doesn't do it right."

Quinn tries hard not to gape at Santana, but she feels a little bit like the wind was knocked out of her.

"She's my best friend, and she's bilingual." Quinn still sounds stunned. "I mean, I think I knew she could understand a little bit of it – from spending so much time with you." Quinn frowns, now looking at Santana, who watches her with open amusement. "I know that I've picked up on a lot in the last few months."

"_Si_," Santana agrees, nodding, and then bites her lip, trying to stifle her grin. "I know you like it when I have my _dedos_ inside you and I whisper to you in Spanish, and tell you to—"

"San_tana_!" Scandalized, Quinn looks around quickly, her cheeks warming.

Santana just smirks, and wraps a comforting arm around Quinn's waist, pulling them hip-to-hip. "I love it when you say my name like that,"

"Oh, my god," Quinn can't hide her blush. She's pretty sure it would be visible from Mars at this point. "Can you please stop? There are minors present."

"Don't get your panties in a bunch, Fabray," Santana says wryly, and begins walking them towards Brittany and her grandmother. "Now make nice with my abuela."

* * *

Quinn does her best, but she doesn't think that she makes much of an impression on the old woman, whose name is either Celia or Camilla. Quinn's too shy to ask, and she's pretty sure she's heard both names thrown around in reference to her. Quinn is left in the awkward position of not having a way to address her – she isn't sure if Ms. _Lopez_ would be appropriate, since she thinks (but isn't sure) that she's Santana's mother's mother. Most of the people gathered just call her "abuela" or "abuelita," and Quinn knows that those would be too familiar to use. Brittany and Santana are no help, since they largely ignore her. Quinn catches herself smiling because she thinks that the two of them have some kind of unspoken competition between them to see who can keep most of the grandmother's attention.

Quinn is most certain that Brittany is winning.

She gets an odd pang, like a fluttering behind her ribcage somewhere beneath her heart, when she realizes how loved and accepted Brittany is by Santana's family. Brittany converses easily with them, slipping in and out of Spanish in a way that still baffles Quinn, and she plays with the younger children while keeping up a conversation with Santana's grandmother. Brittany is halfway through explaining why she, Santana, and Quinn quit the Cheerios when a little boy – around the same age as Madelina – climbs up in her lap and falls asleep, twisting her long hair in his sticky hands. Brittany smiles and talks over his head, her arms circling his small body easily.

Santana kicks back, folding her arms behind her head and resting her heels in Quinn's lap. Quinn is a little startled, but she smiles nonetheless, and runs her thumbs over the ridges of Santana's heels. They're dry and rough from spending too much time barefoot, and Quinn thinks she should convince Santana to get them all pedicures when the party is over.

"And you, Santana?" The grandmother's voice cuts through the general hum of voices, silencing most of the idle chatter. Santana freezes, keenly aware of the attention shift towards her, and she slowly slides her eyes in the direction of her abuela.

"_Si_, Abuelita?" Santana asks carefully.

"Do _you_ have a boyfriend, _mariquita?_" The woman's face is narrow and shred, and she eyes Santana with a squinted look, as if she is prepared for Santana to lie.

"Uhh.." Santana's mouth works for a moment, obviously caught off guard. She glances towards Brittany, almost accusingly, and Quinn can see the color rise in Brittany's cheeks. "No."

"And why not!"

"Grandma, I have no time for boys," Santana says with a bit of a sigh.

"Sure you do! What girl does not have time for boys?" The grandmother huffs, clutching her hands in her lap.

"You'd be surprised," Santana replies dryly.

"And this friend of yours?" Suddenly, Quinn feels the grandmother's eyes on her, and her own widen with shock. The older woman's gaze feels like a tangible weight, settling on her heavily. "Does she have a boyfriend?"

"_Her_ name is Quinn, Abuela," Santana says, her voice tight. "And no, she doesn't have a boyfriend either."

"I don't understand you children today," She throws her hands up in the air dramatically. "All you are obsessed with is your iPats and Tweeder but you no care about having boyfriends!"

"Ma, leave them alone," Santana's mother appears behind her grandmother, carrying a large bowl full of potato salad. "It's good they aren't so boy crazy."

"Well, it is a good thing you stopped with that boy, Santana,"

"Oh, here we go," Santana mutters.

"I didn't like him!"

Quinn laughs despite herself. "Who?"

Santana clenches her jaw and shakes her head.

"That _matón_ with the hair!" She turns towards Brittany, as if seeking for help.

"She's talking about Puck," Brittany supplies quietly.

"Oh." Quinn's expression deadens, and she shoots a sidelong glance towards Santana. Santana's face is hard, and she folds her arms over her chest, staring straight ahead.

"You know him, yes?" The grandmother prods.

"Um, hm," Quinn nods, looking down into her lap.

"He's no good! Not for any good Catholic girl,"

Quinn notices that her accent becomes stronger the longer she talks. She picks a thumbnail over her cuticle and pulls at the loose skin, choosing not to comment.

"Abuela," Santana warns, her voice low. She rattles off a string of Spanish so clipped and hot that it makes Brittany's mouth drop, and her grandmother gasps.

"No, Santanita, I don't want to hear that—"

"_Madre, por favor_," Maribel pleads, tugging on shoulder. "It's her birthday."

"Spoiled child." The grandmother says darkly. She cuts her eyes towards Maribel, and then away. "You ruined her."

Santana doesn't say anything, but she swings her legs away from Quinn's lap angrily and heaves herself up. She pushes through the crowd of children circling them, and in a moment disappears around the side of the house.

"Are you glad?" Maribel demands, a hand resting on her hip. "Are you happy now?"

The grandmother glares at her, and then she begins arguing hotly in Spanish. Quinn meets Brittany's eyes, and both of them have a solemn, uncomfortable expression on their faces.

"Lunch is almost ready," Dr. Lopez announces, edging in slowly on the group. He looks first to his wife's face, and then to his mother-in-law, and finally he sweeps his eyes over Brittany and Quinn, as if trying to gauge the situation.

"Find your daughter," Maribel snaps, and she leans down to grasp the grandmother by her elbow.

"I'll go," Quinn says suddenly. She feels several sets of eyes settle on her, and Dr. Lopez's eyebrows raise when he considers her. Quinn hops up and moves quickly, before anyone can say anything, and she walks in hurried steps around the edge of the house.

She finds Santana sitting on the air conditioning unit, her face lined and bitter. She looks up when she hears Quinn approaching, and the corners of her eyes soften, but only slightly.

"Hey," Quinn says quietly. Santana lifts a shoulder in greeting, and turns her gaze towards the grass.

"Your dad wants you," Quinn bites her lip, and takes Santana's hand in her own. Santana stares at their fingers intertwined for a long moment, and Quinn watches her face.

She startles, only slightly, when she hears grass crunching beneath feet. Brittany appears at her shoulder, looking slightly winded, but she smiles brightly at the pair of them, and then wraps her hand over theirs.

Finally, Santana looks up, and she shares a silent, steady look with Brittany. Quinn doesn't know what is exchanged between them, but the moment passes, and the tension in Santana's face drains. Quinn lets out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. Santana shifts and slides down from the metal box, then takes Quinn's hand in her right one and Brittany's in her left. The three of them make their way back towards the patio, linked together and walking in tandem.

Later, after Santana's father has made her laugh and she's distracted by her cousins, Quinn eases next to Brittany, who sits with her feet dangling in the pool. Brittany smears a hotdog over a blob of ranch dressing on a paper plate balanced in her lap, and she grins at the sight of Quinn settling beside her.

"What happened earlier?" Quinn asks, her voice low. Brittany looks at her curiously, and Quinn's eyebrows rise. "With her grandmother."

"Oh," Brittany chews, swallows. "That."

A moment passes, and Quinn nods. "Yeah?"

Brittany glances around, as if trying to spot Santana. "They argued about Puck."

"Yeah," Quinn smiles, a little confused. "I saw that. What else?"

Brittany scratches the back of her wrist uncomfortably, and avoids Quinn's gaze. "Her grandma wants her to get married. To a boy."

"Really?" Quinn can't help the way surprise colors her voice. "But she's so young."

Brittany nods, and then tugs her bottom lip into her mouth anxiously. "Everyone in her family marries young, though. Her cousin Carla married Dennis just last year, and she only turned eighteen this April."

"Ah." Quinn says it as if she understands, but the truth is, she doesn't. She watches Santana playing with a pair of boys with spiky hair and bronze skin, and she sees the way the other adults watch her. To Quinn, Santana is – well, perfect. Quinn couldn't imagine her any differently, even if she occasionally drives Quinn insane. But she can see, now, that Santana's grandmother views her very differently. It makes Quinn's heart sore. It's an old, familiar pain, like a bruise that never healed; it echoes like the hurt her own parents' expectations left on her, everywhere, even in secret, surprising places that she wouldn't dream of finding them.

Brittany runs a palm down the span of Quinn's back, and her hand is soft against the thin fabric of Quinn's tank top. Quinn shifts until their thighs are touching, and she curls an arm around Brittany's waist, pulling them close. Quinn rests her head against the sun-warmed skin of Brittany's bare shoulder, overcome, for the moment, by the ghosts of old sadness. They're exacerbated by the knowledge that Santana deals with her very own version of these ghosts. She knows that she is beyond reprisals and judgment, now, at least from that quarter, but she also knows that Santana isn't so lucky.

She gets the impression that Santana has done this before, too, when her own heart felt sore. She can imagine them – Santana tucked into Brittany, her head snugged beneath Brittany's chin, while Brittany draws patterns with her fingers along Santana's back. Quinn wishes she could go back in time and be there for those moments, if only to offer her own comfort to Santana, and to take it from them when she most needed it. She thinks about the times that she and Santana were cruel to one another without reason, and something inside of her squeezes sharply.

"It's not so bad," Brittany murmurs quietly, turning her face into Quinn's hair. "You should have seen the way they fought over Santana's _quinceañera_."

"Oh?" Despite herself, Quinn's curiosity is piqued, and she adjusts her head, trying to see Brittany's face.

Brittany is wearing a pleased grin, and it makes Quinn's own cheeks swell.

"Yes," Brittany whispers conspiratorially. "Santana wanted to bring a girl as her date, instead of her cousin Tomas."

Quinn swallows her laugh, pressing her face against the warm skin of Brittany's shoulder. "I bet that went over well."

"Her mother thought it was a great idea," Brittany nods, and smiles into her lap. "But Abuela said it was _abominación_." She frowns briefly. "I never asked Santana what that word meant. I don't think I want to know."

Quinn studies Brittany's face, and wonders how much of Santana's pain has rubbed off on her over the years. "What did Santana do?"

Immediately, Brittany's face brightens with a look of proud joy. "She just kept _arguing._ She threw dishes and broke half of her little crystal champagne glasses. Her dad kept trying to get her to stop, but Abuela wouldn't quit yelling and so Santana went a little crazy."

Quinn can't help but grin at the thought of Santana having a full-blown tantrum in the midst of getting ready for a party. "The most funniest part, though," Brittany says, squeezing Quinn tight, "is that her abuela went and brought a priest right into their house to try to convince Santana to change her mind."

"No way." Quinn isn't sure if she's still amused by the revelation, or slightly disturbed. "That sounds awful."

"It was," Brittany admits, but she's still grinning. "Santana was furious. I – well, I didn't hear everything she said. It was really fast, and I only hear Spanish when it's slow," Brittany scratches her nails softly over the skin beneath Quinn's shirt. "But I did catch her calling him some not-nice names. And she never went back to church with her abuela after that."

"Hmm." Quinn's eyes narrow, and she looks back towards Santana speculatively. She had no idea that Santana was ever religious – even if the _quinceañera_ happened the summer after they met. While Brittany might find the memory amusing, Quinn knows how hard it can be to be rejected by one's own religion over something – well, something you can't change.

"Did she end up bringing a girl to her party?" Quinn asks.

Brittany sighs, and shakes her head. "I was invited to it, of course, but I wasn't her date. Neither was Tomas. She went stag."

Quinn smiles, because now she senses a pattern with Santana – if she can't bring the date of her choice, she brings no one. Just like that winter formal, which seems like eons ago.

"We danced together, though," Brittany almost whispers it.

"I bet it was beautiful," Quinn smiles, and then turns her face again, pressing her lips to Brittany's shoulder. "I wish I could have seen."

"Me too," Brittany's eyes are crinkled at the corners when they meet with Quinn's.

"Don't you think it's kind of funny that Santana has such a severe case of gay panic, but she has open arguments with her grandmother about taking a girl as a date?"

Brittany's face drops so suddenly that it almost startles Quinn.

"Don't call her _gay,_" Brittany murmurs. "She hates that."

"Uh, I know." Quinn sits up straight and turns to face Brittany. "But _why?"_

Brittany sighs again, and Quinn is surprised at the level of sadness that creeps over her face. "I wish I knew."

* * *

"Look at her,"

"Is she really asleep?"

"She _never_ falls asleep," Brittany turns her head upward, staring into the sky as if to read the time there. "Not in the middle of the day."

"Is she sick?" Santana seems curious, and she lays the back of her hand across Quinn's forehead.

Quinn hums and turns her head, and Santana takes a moment to study her face before she breaks out in a grin. She slides one leg over the plastic pool chair that Quinn naps in, straddling her waist, and uses her palms to rub lightly up and down Quinn's forearms.

"Q, wake up," Santana says, still smiling.

Brittany rubs the back of her fingers over the curve of Quinn's cheekbone. "You're getting a sunburn."

Quinn groans, scrunching her face, and then her hands fly up to push at Santana's midsection. "Get off me."

"Wow, grumpy much?" Santana says with a little sneer.

"What's wrong?" Brittany murmurs, crouching down, and using her fingertips to push the wisps of Quinn's hair away from her forehead.

"I have cramps," Quinn says, and shoves a bit harder at Santana. "Get off me."

"Oh, great," Santana says, rolling her eyes. She swings herself off of Quinn and straightens her clothes. "You need a vacation back _to Casa a la Judy_ for a week, Q,"

"Santana," Brittany warns, scowling. Santana makes a face at her over Quinn's prone form, and Brittany just cocks her head. She softens her gaze when her eyes sweep over Quinn again, who has yet to open her eyes. Instead, her face is screwed up in irritation, and she rubs over her abdomen. Without warning, Brittany scoops Quinn up in her arms, and Quinn's eyes fly open with a muffled yelp.

"I got you, Quinn," Brittany says, and smiles at her. Quinn immediately wraps an arm around Brittany's neck and then rests her head on Brittany's shoulder.

"Oh, you guys are disgusting," Santana says, resting a fist on her hip. "The only way this could get any worse is if _you_ started yours, too," She points an accusing finger in Brittany's direction.

"You're a grouch," Brittany says, frowning.

"Shut up, Santana," Quinn mutters.

Santana rolls her eyes again, and huffs noisily when Brittany carries Quinn inside. She watches as Brittany takes them both up the stairs, and only follows reluctantly when Brittany calls for her.

"What?" Santana snaps, poking her head inside her bedroom.

"I need the aloe vera," Brittany says, her eyes trained on Quinn.

"I'm going to be a lobster," Quinn groans.

"Serves you right for falling asleep in the sun," Santana says, but her tone is only mildly snarky. She disappears into the bathroom across the hall and comes back holding a big plastic bottle with sticky green goo inside of it.

"I hate you," Quinn mutters, glaring at Santana.

Santana grins at her, and plops down on the bed. Quinn is curled on her side, her back towards Brittany, who immediately begins rubbing the gel over her shoulders and along her arms.

"You love me," Santana insists.

"Not right now."

"Stop fighting," Brittany says with a sigh.

"You're awful touchy today, Britt," Santana runs her eyes over Brittany's face, and she gets an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach. "Please tell me you aren't—"

"I don't know." Brittany says, her tone slightly whiny. "But I think so."

"Oh, my god," Santana says, her eyes growing wide. "No, no, _no,"_

"What?" Quinn twists her head, peaking over to Brittany.

"I think I'm going to start soon, too."

Quinn's face goes a little grim.

"Santana?"

Santana fidgets beneath the sudden weight of their eyes on her. "I'm not sure when—I actually think I'm a little late."

"Ugh," Quinn groans again. "I hate my life."

"Just don't talk about it and it won't happen." Santana says, her tone resolute.

She's wrong.

Four hours later, Brittany is nestled in the bed beside Quinn. Santana glares at them, even though they can't see her – because she had to pull the curtains closed, and Brittany has a washcloth over her eyes. She feels like she's suffocating with the amount of pent up estrogen in the room, and she wants to leave, but she's also afraid to make any sudden movements because when she does—

"Santana," Quinn drawls, whining. "Please. I need a heating pad. And midol."

"Quinn," Santana sighs, aggravated. "I don't have a heating pad."

"Find one!" Brittany snaps.

Santana winces, recoiling against the force of Brittany's words. Brittany is _never_ snappy with Santana, so she figures she ought to let it slide. Because – well, Brittany is kind of like Medusa on steroids when her period is bad, and Santana just.. doesn't want to upset her.

"I think I heard if you put pinto beans or rice in a sock and heat it up in the microwave that it works good." Quinn says dully. "I feel like my uterus is trying to rip itself out of me."

"I'll try that," Santana swallows, and walks on her tip-toes past the bed. She eyes Quinn and Brittany warily as she passes, and then slips quietly out the door.

Quinn is right, and Santana is able to make two makeshift heating pads out of dried beans and rice. She smirks, knowing that there's some kind of joke hidden about her ethnicity in there somewhere, but she can't seem to find it at the moment. Actually, she realizes she has a kind of tightness building behind her eyes, and just as the microwave _beeps_ she realizes there's a low ache in her pelvis.

She groans, placing a palm over the area that she approximates holds her ovaries. "Please, not today. Just.. hold off for a little while," She whispers.

"What are you doing?"

Santana whips her head around, the look on her face guilty. Martin stands in the entrance to the kitchen, holding a basketball. "And where are your friends? Did you finally decide to kill them and wear their skin?"

"Ew, Martin," Santana wrinkles her nose.

"Wouldn't surprise me, the way you're _obsessed_ with them."

"Shut up, you little freak," Santana snaps.

"_You're_ the freak! Standing here talking to yourself."

Santana just glares at him, and then Martin's face twists up with horror.

"Santanita, are you _pregnant?"_ His eyes dip towards her stomach. "Is that why you were talking like that?"

"What?" Alarmed, Santana snatches her hand away from her waist. "No! Just mind your own business!"

"I'm telling Mom!"

"Martin!"

She doesn't have a chance to do anything, because he dodges out of the kitchen right as she takes a step. Aggravated, Santana punches the button that swings the microwave door open, and grabs both of the rolled up socks in one fist. She yowls at the sudden release of steam, which scalds her palm, and then she tosses them between both of her hands while she trots up the stairs.

"Here," Santana grumbles. She barely resists throwing them – but one slanted glare from Brittany has her restraining herself. Quinn sighs in relief when she presses the sock against her belly, and Brittany squeezes hers tightly between her fingers before she shoves hers beneath her pajama pants.

"My period is going to start," Santana says, resigned to it. She sits on the edge of the bed – on Quinn's side, since that's safer – and she grips at her comforter, worrying the slick black material between her fingers.

"You sure?" Quinn asks. She seems more relaxed, now, though her eyes are heavily lidded. She circles her fingers loosely around Santana's wrist, and rubs the pad of her thumb against the soft creases there.

"Yeah." Santana turns her hand so that their palms are clasped together. "Martin thinks I'm pregnant."

"What?" Brittany asks, a bit sharply. Santana cranes her neck and sees that Brittany is looking at her with creased eyebrows. "Why would he think that?"

"Jeeze, Britt, paranoid much?" Santana rolls her shoulders, turning away from Brittany. "How could I even-? How could you even think-?" She shakes her head and rubs her free hand over the back of her neck. "He's just being crazy."

"He is." Quinn murmurs softly. She uses the hand not clutching at Santana to smooth down the length of Brittany's arm. Brittany looks at her, and after a moment, she relaxes, settling back into the pillows.

"I think we should have been prepared for this at some point." Santana sighs. "It's biology, right?"

"I thought that was an old wives' tale," Quinn says. She keeps rubbing Brittany's arm, and her fingers twine through Santana's.

"Guess not." Santana stares at the carpet. "I don't know why me and Britt never synced up before, though."

"You're the missing link, Quinn," Brittany murmurs, and most of the bite has dissolved out of her voice. Quinn gazes at her, and Brittany is smiling softly.

"I don't like how you play favorites when you're PMSing," Santana grumbles.

"Deal with it," Brittany's voice is clipped.

Santana just sighs, throwing up her hands in defeat. She struggles a moment to kick off her socks, and then she climbs into bed, settling beside Quinn. "My head hurts." She lets herself whine just a little bit.

"Poor baby," Quinn smiles, and uses her hand to stroke Santana's hair. Santana shifts until her head is resting on Quinn's shoulder, and she tentatively reaches for Brittany's hand across the span of Quinn's waist. Brittany closes her palm against Santana's, and then resettles so that she, too, is snuggled up to Quinn, with her cheek on Quinn's arm.

The rest of the week passes in fits and starts, the days seeming to drag out impossibly slow. The three of them spend their time huddled on Santana's bed, or splayed out in the Lopez family room. They snap and snarl so fiercely at Martin that he doesn't hesitate to abandon his spot in front of his X-Box when they wander down the stairs in the mornings. Brittany prefers to sit with her head in Quinn's lap and her feet resting against the arm of the sofa, while Santana sits on the ground between Quinn's legs. Quinn uses her hands to massage their scalps, and they fight over what to watch on television ("Santana – I'm _not_ watching Jersey Shore!" "I want to watch Beauty and the Beast. Please." "No more Disney movies, Britt! For the love of God!") until Maribel comes home in the early evening.

Santana notices the effect that it has on each of them, even though she wishes she could ignore it. She wishes that she didn't care. Quinn turns whiny and pleading, and she even _pouts,_ which is something Santana wishes she had the heart to tease her for – and Brittany becomes snappish and moody, even mean. Santana has spent enough time with Brittany to know how she behaves, though it seems like this time she's particularly grumpy.

And Santana? Well, she's slightly sentimental – she can't help it. Her eyes water at the most inconvenient times, and sometimes Brittany's brusque remarks make her throat swell up. _Damn hormones._ She knows it's just passing, but it sucks. She wishes she could do like Coach Sylvester boasts of doing and have her tear ducts removed. She hates being such a damn _girl_ all the time.

After bathing, they each rub lotion on one another's skin, slowly. It gives them time to unwind, and Santana sighs beneath the strong, steady fingers of Brittany kneading into her back. She slides her own palms down the ridges of Quinn's spine, and then up over her shoulders, beneath her tawny curls. Quinn's damp hair tickles the back of her wrists, and she rubs her thumbs into the tiny knots beneath Quinn's skin.

Santana leans over and plucks a hairbrush from her table, and then slowly runs it through Quinn's hair. Santana smiles to herself when Brittany's fingers massage her hips, and at the way Quinn cants her head into the rhythmic tugging. Finally, when Quinn's hair is slick and straight, Santana parts it into three sections and starts weaving it together.

"Your hair is getting so long," Santana murmurs.

"Almost as long as Brittany's."

Brittany makes a noncommittal noise, and then slides until she's directly in front of Quinn. Quinn starts working lotion into her skin, and the subtle, shifting movements means that her braid is loose and sloppy. But Santana anticipates the way that Quinn's hair will be impossibly wavy when they wake up tomorrow and she takes her hair down, and Santana can't help but grin. "I love it."

Santana can't see Quinn's smile, but she can sense it. It makes everything inside of her flood with warmth, despite the low pressure in her pelvis and the constant discomfort between her legs.

They don't bother with pajamas that night. Instead, they crawl beneath Santana's comforter and fall asleep, skin still damp and fragrant from the lotion. They all smell the same – Santana smells her own shampoo in Brittany's hair, her body wash on Quinn's neck. It's comforting and peaceful, and Santana lets herself dwell on it – for once. It doesn't cause the same kind of stir that it used to, in the brief moments she would give herself to actually _think _about it before. Something heavy and leaden does descend in her gut, sometimes, when her mind wanders too far, and the implications become too serious or too real; but it isn't the same white, blinding panic that it used to be. It's unnerving and uncomfortable, but not.. not intolerable. She doesn't know what to call it – there isn't any kind of a name for it. It turns into an amalgam of _Brittany_ and _Quinn_ in her mind, a montage of blonde hair in different shades, pink lips, bright smiles, and eyes that stare back at her with the same emotion reflected in them. Occasionally – well, frequently – it's too much for her, and she has to push it aside. But that takes a tremendous amount of effort, a combination of nonchalance and denial and everything that feels like just _ignoring it._ Santana never realized how much energy it took, before, just to push things aside and keep them stifled, buried.

Curled up between Quinn and Brittany, listening to their faint breaths and feeling their hearts beat beneath their skin, Santana realizes that she's growing tired. Much too tired.

She lets it go, for now. She understands innately that something – something is happening. Something she can't control; it feels like something slowly unraveling, and every time a thread loosens, it sounds just like chains clanging to the ground.

She falls asleep. She doesn't remember her dreams, but when she wakes, she knows that they leave her mouth with a sweet taste and a smile on her lips.

* * *

**A/N**: I hope you'll let me know what you think! You can ask me questions about this or any of my other stories on tumblr.


	12. Chapter 12

For the last few years, Brittany has felt a lot of conflict when it comes to summertime.

She loves the summer – it's possibly her favorite time of year. Ever since she was a little girl and her mother would let her play all day at Santana's, she's always looked forward to hours full of sun and being outside, of popsicles and barbecues, bonfires and swimsuits and laughing. Definitely the best. Things were easier when they were younger, and their connection was as simple as walking down the street to each other's houses.

By the time Santana's family moved, they were no longer locked inside a world that consisted of only them. They were in that mysterious in between stage of not-quite teenagers and not-quite kids, and Santana – much more than Brittany, it felt like – wanted so badly to fit into the teenager slot. She turned the summer into something that included _everyone,_ taking Brittany to every high school party she possibly could get an invite to. Brittany eventually adapted to that; in fact, she learned to enjoy it. All of the best things about summer, plus a bunch of people! Probably her favorite thing.

Then something happened: Brittany doesn't have a word for it, but it happened right as they toppled over the cusp into actual adolescence. Santana's smiles were the same long, slow smiles that they always were, but they changed Brittany, somehow; they turned her belly into knots and started a tingle up and down her skin. Brittany found herself staring at Santana in a way she never had before – noticing her in a bikini, in an oversized nightshirt, in nothing. Brittany didn't know the word for it, back then, but it's a feeling that has always been mixed up with Santana, along with memories of sticky hands from play-doh and bare feet on asphalt and the weird, thick smell of sunblock. Brittany can look at Santana now and still have that topsy-turvy, tingly feeling, and she hopes that she always will.

The beginning of the school year – which still half feels like summer, to Brittany, because of the heat and the smells and the long, bright days – right after Brittany noticed that tingle is when she caught sight of Quinn for the first time.

Brittany has absolutely no word for how she felt when her eyes first snagged onto Quinn, either, just like she can't think of the word for how things changed between her and Santana. But if Santana made her feel like everything inside of her was warm and tingly, Quinn made her feel like – well, like a star had exploded in her chest; everything was pounding and jittering and bright, from her ribcage down to her toes. Quinn made her knees feel wobbly and her insides shake, and that was just by _looking_ at her; it had nothing to do with the sound of her voice beneath the sheets at 3 a.m. with a flashlight, like things did with Santana, or the taste of cotton candy or the memory of carving pumpkins every year. Quinn was new, and she burst into Brittany's life and she changed everything, too.

At first, Brittany didn't notice how much she changed. All she knew was – she wanted to look at Quinn, all of the time. She wanted to be around Quinn, all of the time. Quinn was like a tidal force, drawing her in, and all she could do was obey it. But Santana noticed. Santana's eyes narrowed every time Quinn entered a room and Brittany zeroed in on her; Santana's jaw clenched whenever Brittany would smile her big, open smile at Quinn. Quinn always smiled back, showing all of her teeth, and sometimes she would laugh. Quinn's laugh made Brittany's insides quiver and go tight, so she always experienced a burst of adrenaline and nerves whenever that happened.

When all three of them made it onto the Cheerios squad, Brittany felt like she had won the biggest prize in the world, and she hadn't even worked for it. Because she had Santana – warm, gentle, easy, _forever_ Santana – and she also had Quinn – bright, exciting, glittery, starburst, _new_ Quinn – and it just felt like her life was somehow perfect.

Santana changed things – perhaps the biggest change of all - when, during one weekend near the end of the school year, she climbed on top of Brittany. Brittany hadn't been expecting it. In fact, she had been staring at the patterns on her ceiling, and noticing that one of the tannish water spots reminded her of her old hamster, Coconut Frosting. She was a little startled by the feeling of Santana's warm, smooth thighs gliding across her bare hips (the pair of them were only in panties and loose t-shirts, since the air conditioning was on the fritz and all they had was a box fan aimed at them). Brittany's eyes widened, and Santana's weight settled firmly across Brittany's pelvis. Her hair hung in a dark curtain around her face, and she had a look in her eye – one Brittany had caught glimpses of in the past, but had never had time to analyze or wonder much about it. Santana took her bottom lip into her mouth, and stared at Brittany. Brittany felt the heat rise in her cheeks because – well, they weren't saying anything, and Santana was sitting on top of her, and nothing that was happening was normal. She almost wanted to tickle Santana, to break the tension.

"Britt," Santana whispered, so softly. Brittany cocked her head, and she could feel her hair shift and move beneath her on the sheets. "I'm going to do something. Okay?"

Brittany nodded. She had no idea why, but her heart started kicking up wildly in her chest.

Santana leaned down, curling into Brittany, and then she pressed their lips together. It was a moment that stole all of the breath out of Brittany's lungs; it amplified that tingly, glowing sensation that always built whenever she was around Santana, but that she had learned to ignore – it made everything feel so sensitive and raw and aching. Santana rubbed her lips over Brittany's for a moment, and Brittany could sense her shifting to pull back – but Brittany's hand curled around Santana's neck, and held her there, and in an instant her tongue was out, licking between them, drawing Santana's lower lip into her mouth.

Things changed that night, and it made their summers different, somehow. Santana didn't want to go to as many parties – though they did, still, sometimes. Instead, Santana wanted to stay at her house while her parents worked and her brother was at day-camp or their grandparents or playing Mario Kart. That entire summer, between freshman and sophomore year, Brittany learned things about Santana that didn't even feel much like _learning;_ they felt like remembering. Santana always smiled that long, slow smile, and it made Brittany warm all over.

Brittany loved that summer with Santana, even though she got lonesome for her friends and the parties and the activities that had defined so many years' worth of summers before. She didn't realize it until the first day of sophomore year, but she missed Quinn, too – Quinn still gave her that lightning-heart feeling, but it was buried beneath the scent and sound and taste of Santana. Brittany would have let the ember for Quinn die out, if it hadn't been for Noah Puckerman, and a confession to Santana that ruined everything.

Brittany told Santana _I love you_ one night, after Santana had clung to her body and rocked until she was gasping and shaking. Brittany hadn't even known she was saying it, to be honest. It was just an emotion that flowed out of every part of her, and then past her lips. She thought Santana would be glad. But Santana wasn't.

Noah Puckerman was the first boy Santana really set her sights on. Santana had sex with him, and then with other boys. She didn't want to have as much time with Brittany as before. Brittany had sex with boys, too, and even Puck once. They went to parties together only to leave with other people. It hurt - it rubbed her heart raw the way sandpaper makes the back of your hand hurt if you scrub with the rough side down. Brittany didn't understand how or why things changed, except that her whispered _I love you_ had something to do with it.

Brittany had sex with other girls as well, and it wasn't a secret. Santana got mad, but she never said anything.

Puck changed things again for them their sophomore year when he got Quinn pregnant. Brittany has never known how she feels about him, because it was partially him and partially her own heart that shifted the things between her and Santana originally, but she knows – she _knows –_ that she's happy that he and Quinn made a baby together, because if it weren't for that.. well. Brittany doesn't like to think much about what-ifs, especially not the bad, sad kind. But not having Quinn a part of her life – _their lives_ – that would be a very bad, sad thing.

So the next summer was the first with Quinn, and the three of them hardly left Santana's backyard. Only to do things together, like go to the movies or get ice-cream at the diner down the street. It felt as if they were inside of a snow globe (or maybe a beach ball, because it was summer time), contained and happy; and Brittany loved it. Brittany loved every second of that summer, because it was like magic – the magic of discovering Quinn in the way she first discovered Santana, and then being able to witness Quinn and Santana discover each other, which is the kind of gift that Brittany never imagined to be given. Her heart aches in a way that's like a wound healing and all the skin is fresh and new whenever she remembers that summer, despite the way it ended.

This present summer has been different, but the same; a little bit of all of them mixed into one. Quinn has spent more time with them than before, and Brittany understands better now than ever the term _family_. Which feels silly – because she has three sisters and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles, and also all of Santana's family, which feel like her own – but it's the truth, and she knows that Quinn and Santana are her people, the special kind, the kind that are family and more than that all at once.

Brittany has said _I love you_ to Santana many times since the first time, and almost every time, Santana cries. The first time she said it to Quinn, Brittany watched her eyes fill with tears; the next time, Quinn actually cried, too, and Brittany knows that their tears are a mixture of happiness and fear and hope, but in differing degrees for both of them.

She heard Quinn say _I love you_, first, the night she laid Brittany down and made love to her so furiously and passionately, and wanted nothing back. Brittany remembers that night, she keeps it locked in her heart like the seed of a rare plant or a precious jewel.

Santana has said I love you, but not _I love you,_ which are different things. Brittany thinks Santana came close, once, but it was only after she and Quinn both made her say it; and that isn't what Brittany wants. Brittany doesn't want an _I love you_ that's forced or taken, she wants it to be given as freely as she gives hers, every time she whispers them against Santana's neck or along Quinn's jaw.

This summer has kept the girls locked into their own world, with outside interference from Santana's family. They've done even less outside of the Lopez house than ever before. Brittany loves Quinn and Santana – loves them in a way that she doesn't even know a word for (there are a lot of things she doesn't know the word for) – but she remembers the parties and her friends, and she knows that, just like she needs the smell of Quinn's hair against her cheek and the feeling of Santana's palm along her side, she needs other people, too.

So she wants to go to Mike Chang's beach party. She wants to go so badly. It's on Lake Erie, which is a place she's never been, and because it's his eighteenth birthday party, his parents said he could have as many people as he wants. Brittany got the invitation because she still checks her Facebook – Santana and Quinn ignore theirs, for the most part – and she _really, really_ wants to go.

"It will be fun," Brittany doesn't have to beg or whine to get what she wants. Her tone is upbeat and happy. She can tell by the way Quinn's eyes are glazed over and her bottom lip is caught between her teeth that she's nearly won over. It makes her smile – a quick, pleased smile – during moments like this, when she realizes Quinn will do things for her just _for her._ It makes her want to pick Quinn up and spin her around in a dizzy circle, and then set her down and kiss her silly; but she knows right now is not the time.

Santana is harder to convince.

She has that set, stubborn look to her face that means it will take hours of talking until she finally gives in. Brittany is prepared, though, because the thought of a bonfire and all of her friends plus beer and a beach just sounds too good to pass up.

Brittany rounds on Quinn first, because she knows she has a better chance of this if she gets Quinn on board early. Quinn sits in Santana's desk chair, her legs drawn up, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair is wild and curly, falling in a shiny golden sheet around her shoulders. She glances between Brittany and Santana, and Brittany can almost see her assessing the risk of siding with her.

Brittany smiles and steps close, and she runs a hand along the valley between Quinn's shoulder blades. It makes her spine straighten, but only slightly. "Think about it," Brittany says, raising her eyebrows. "It'll be great. We'll get to swim in a lake. We can eat hotdogs 'til we barf."

Quinn smiles, but Santana's laugh is coarse and grating.

"It won't be fun," She scowls at her bed, where she's sorting laundry. A basket sits next to her on the floor, and she folds jean shorts and tosses underwear into a pile. "Mike is only inviting the nerdy ass glee kids. Do you remember what happened the last time we did that?" Santana rolls her eyes dramatically. "That party was the definition of lame."

"Hey," Quinn says, with a bit of a smile. "I actually really liked that party."

"The Rachel Berry trainwreck?" Santana snorts. "No thank you."

"This will be _better,_ Santana," Brittany tries to reason. She can tell by the way tension floods out of Quinn's shoulders that Quinn has all but agreed. "It will be outside. A beach. Think about it!"

"Beaches are messy." The corner of Santana's nose goes up. "Sand gets everywhere. Do you remember Rachel drunk? Because I do."

"Why are you obsessing over Rachel?" Quinn's tone is mildly amused, but the crook of her eyebrow is challenging. "You afraid you'll want to kiss her again?"

Santana makes a gagging noise.

Brittany brightens at that prospect, since she _still_ hasn't kissed Rachel and it's on her to-do list.

"Look, we need to get out of this house," Quinn says, and Brittany feels a thrill of triumph. "We spend every day here. Don't you get tired of it?"

"No," Santana answers quickly, and her dark eyes dart over quickly to look at them. She watches the way Brittany's hand lays against Quinn's shoulders and how Quinn cocks her head, leaning into Brittany's hip, before she shakes her head. "Do you?"

"A little bit." Brittany answers with a sigh. Santana has turned this into something it doesn't need to be about. She walks across Santana's room and places both of her hands on Santana's shoulders, and they're so stiff they feel like granite. Softly, Brittany rubs her thumbs down, and then she kisses the nape of Santana's neck. "I love being here with you all of the time. But just one night out won't kill us."

Brittany notices Quinn unfold herself from the chair, and in a moment, she flanks Santana, and now her hands are on Santana's hips, turning her. Brittany keeps to Santana's back, and her body is flush against Santana's; Santana stares at Quinn, who holds her by the hips but doesn't draw her close. "We can get drunk on the beach and have sex in the water," Quinn says it with a catty smile, her eyelashes dipping in a way that would be bashful if her voice weren't so low and steady.

Santana huffs out a breath, and then Brittany slides her hands down along Santana's ribs, stilling them to rest just above Quinn's. "Please, Santana," Brittany says it into Santana's ear.

Santana holds completely still for just a moment, and Brittany can see the heat rising in her cheeks. Finally she scoffs and throws her arms up. "Fine!" She gestures at Quinn with narrowed eyes. "But _you_ have to do tequila shooters until you fucking drop. No more pansy tapping out bullshit."

"Deal." Quinn grins so widely it makes that squirmy thing happen in Brittany's stomach again.

"And you," Santana whirls, until she's suddenly facing Brittany. There is absolutely no space between their bodies and it makes Brittany grin and bump their hips together suggestively. "You keep your damn clothes on! I don't want to be chasing you around half the night trying to make sure you don't go to jail for indecent exposure!"

Brittany can see Quinn rolling her eyes over Santana's shoulder, but she just smiles and nods, and then kisses Santana hard on the lips.

"Thank you." Brittany says when she finally pulls away.

"I'm going to regret this," Santana says with a sigh, and shifts away from Brittany.

Brittany gives Quinn a softer, deeper kiss when she takes the three steps dividing them, holding her face close and stroking her fingers through Quinn's hair. "Thank you," She whispers it against Quinn's lips.

Quinn just smiles up at her, and Brittany feels golden all over.

* * *

It's a longish drive out to northern Ohio, but Brittany is conditioned to extended periods of time cramped in a car. Her family used to take vacations to visit her grandparents in New Mexico every year, and sometimes, during spring break, she and Santana and the rest of the Lopez clan would make the two hour drive down to the King's Island theme park. They haven't done it in the last few years, and this quiet drive – in Santana's cramped Nissan Altima – reminds her of being crammed in the middle of Martin and Santana, her thighs sticking to the leather interior of Santana's dad's truck. It's too quiet, and almost too early to be awake, at least in Santana's opinion – she's grumpy, squinting behind her large, dark glasses.

Quinn sits beside Santana the front seat, and watches her. Brittany can see the way Quinn's eyes are scanning Santana's face, and her lips are pressed together in a way that makes Brittany almost hyperaware of the knots of tension between them.

"You should let me drive," Quinn says into the silence.

Santana's eyebrows scowl deeply above her sunglasses, and she shakes her head. "You can't drive my car."

"Then we should have taken Brittany's," Quinn says on a huff.

Santana cocks her head, angling a look at Quinn. "Letting Brittany drive for longer than twenty minutes is a bad idea."

"Hey." Brittany scoots up on the middle seat of the back, hanging her elbows on either side of the front seats. "I'm right here."

"Yeah, I know," Santana says, and Brittany can see her dimples trying to poke out. "You were supposed to hear that."

"What's wrong with Brittany driving?" Quinn has a laugh on her voice.

"She just –" Santana clenches the steering wheel, shrugging. "She gets bored. She likes to make the car _dance,"_ Even behind her dark glasses, Brittany can see Santana's eyes go wide. "It's um.. interesting."

"You do what?" Quinn chuckles and turns to face Brittany.

Brittany is smiling, even though she knows Santana is being serious. She makes crazy, zig-zagging motion with her hands, mimicking turning a steering wheel.

Quinn's eyes widen. "Oh." She nods. "Okay." A laugh. "Sounds dangerous."

"'S fun." Brittany grins.

"Probably better you don't drive just the same."

Brittany is used to hearing that, so it doesn't hurt her feelings.

But Quinn is watching Santana's face again, and the air of humor dissolves between them. "Really, though, Santana, if you're tired, or—"

"I'm fine," Santana snaps.

Quinn inhales deeply and breathes out through her nose. She turns, angling her knees towards the passenger door, and stares out the window.

Brittany glances between them, tucking her lips into her mouth. She settles her fingertips against the sharp jut of Quinn's exposed clavicle, drifting the pads of her fingers down the slant of her shoulderblade. She can tell Quinn is upset by the set of her jaw, but the tight lines around her eyes seem to relax, slightly.

Next, Brittany slides the meat of her palm along Santana's hip, digging beneath the thin t-shirt she's wearing until skin meets skin. Brittany rests her head on the shoulder of Quinn's seat, but with her eyes trained towards Santana, who still looks out bleakly from behind her glasses. Idly, Brittany drifts her thumb along Santana's skin, and she watches the way Santana's elbows seem to droop, ever so slightly, as the moments tick by.

Eventually, Quinn leans forward to turn the radio on, and they spend the drive in silence, with Brittany holding the connection between them.

* * *

Mike Chang's beach house is actually located on a small island out in the middle of Lake Erie, and they have to ride in Mike's little boat out to it.

Santana is about eleven times more cranky about this than she was about the drive, because by now the midmorning sun is almost blinding against the deep blue waters, and she has to wear a life jacket and sit in a little motorized boat squeezed between Rachel and Kurt, while Quinn, Brittany and Mercedes face her. Mike crouches in the back and steers, and tries to ignore the death glares Santana throws at him.

"These life jackets look moldy," Santana mutters darkly, and Brittany can see her trying to squeeze herself together to avoid her bare thighs touching Rachel or Kurt.

"You look like a fucking idiot," Santana hisses at Rachel, and then jerks to glare at Kurt. "You, too."

Kurt just rolls his eyes and adjusts his seaman's cap atop his head. Brittany likes his outfit – it looks like a sailor's, kind of, but with some ruffles – and Rachel _is_ wearing something completely inappropriate for a party on the beach (Brittany is pretty sure that those might be tap shoes she's wearing), but Brittany still thinks Santana is being kind of mean.

"Good morning to you, too, Santana," Rachel says, her tone a bit indignant.

"You need to hire someone to dress you." Santana sneers.

"Santana," Brittany hums, and Santana stares in her general direction.

Quinn, beside Brittany, just smirks, and squeezes Brittany's fingers together.

Brittany sort of thinks Quinn doesn't want her to stop Santana from being a total dragon lady, because Quinn sort of doesn't like Rachel either, and it amuses Quinn to watch Santana rip her apart.

Brittany doesn't know how she feels about her part in their evil plot, but Quinn's thumb strokes Brittany's knuckle and she decides to acquiesce, this once. Besides, Rachel has her moments of being a giant bitch, too, and it _is_ kind of fun to watch them squabble.

Mike leaves them at his house in order to go back and pick up the rest of the glee kids – already waiting are Tina, Artie, and Puck. Brittany does the mental head count and realizes they're only waiting for Blaine, Finn, and Sam. At least, she thinks so. Mike's parents' beach house is the kind that is on stilts, and it fascinates Brittany to think about a house on legs. They have to climb a set of wooden stairs and walk around a high deck before they're inside, and the entire house is light and airy from the wall-to-ceiling windows that give them a view of the beach.

Santana immediately makes her way over to the kitchen island, but Quinn wanders over to stand in front of the giant windows. Brittany feels a little overwhelmed by the space of the place, as well as all of the furniture – which is too big and formal-looking – and the walls, which are dark wooden panels. She glances between Santana, who makes herself at home beside Kurt, still sniping, and Quinn, who stands by herself, quiet and contained.

Brittany has always felt a little like a pendulum when it comes to them, swinging from one to the other, but she knows (without knowing _how _or _why_) that the other two feel the same way from time to time. Brittany wonders, sometimes, if it's a good thing or if it's bad, though her instincts tell her that their rhythm is better when it's a steady push-pull rather than when it's an erratic shove-drag-_crash._

Finally, she hears her name sound above the quiet babble of voices, and she turns to find Santana watching her with curious eyes. Her sunglasses perch carelessly on top of her head, and it makes Brittany smile to see the question on Santana's face. Santana has stopped in the middle of placing a piece of cheese on a cracker, while Kurt and Rachel argue something around her. Brittany smiles to reassure Santana, and she finally walks towards the bar, pulled out of her momentary paralysis.

She's startled – but not surprised – by the sudden presence of Quinn at her elbow, though her abrupt warmth makes Brittany smile. She realizes that Santana murmuring her name had drawn Quinn's attention, too, and it creates a steady buzz in Brittany right where her heart is located; she grins hugely at Santana when she finally gets close enough to touch her, and the way the corners of Santana's eyes crinkle lets Brittany know that Santana feels bashful about it.

Brittany wants to kiss her – she wants to pull Quinn close with one arm and hold Santana securely with another – but the quick flash of panic in Santana's dark eyes stops her short. Santana glances around, her lips pressed together tightly, and Brittany is aware of the way Santana's face reflects fear. Brittany tenses, but only for a moment, before she carefully plucks the cheese and cracker out of Santana's hands.

"Brittany, I have to say, your freckles really do bring out your eyes," Kurt says, oblivious to the taut rubber band feeling that passes between Santana and Brittany.

Brittany feels Quinn's palm low on her back, and something about the touch is both comforting and a little bit sad. The look on Santana's face is tight and pleading, and finally Brittany just shoves the cracker in her mouth and shifts, putting more space between their bodies, even though it makes her bump into Quinn. Quinn, for her part, doesn't move, and her fingers drum a little rhythm against the base of Brittany's spine.

"Thanks." Brittany tries to smile, but her mouth feels dry and full of cracker crumbs.

"Your hair is lighter, too," Kurt's eyes narrow. "Do you dye it?"

"No." Brittany looks at Quinn, who has moved to stand more beside her than behind.

Quinn just throws a look at Kurt, as if daring him to ask _her_ if _she_ dyes her hair.

(Brittany has always kind of wondered this herself, but she never asked.. now she wishes Kurt _would_ ask, but she can tell by his wide-eyed look that he won't.)

Finally, the doors burst open, and the rest of the glee kids flood in. Brittany is tugged away from Santana and her scared silence by Quinn, who takes them over to greet (and flirt with) Sam. She can feel the weight of Santana's eyes on her back, but the moment passes in an instant, because just then Santana takes back up her argument with Rachel and the entire room is filled with the sounds of laughter and conversation and it's too much for Brittany to follow all at once.

She reminds herself that this is something _she_ wanted. She just forgot the part where she wouldn't be able to kiss or hold Santana _or_ Quinn all day. She forgot the rules; something Santana has been so adamant about for years, now.

Brittany remembers now why she always dreads the end of summer, and she understands a little better Santana's reluctance to leave her house.

* * *

They swim after lunch, and Brittany doesn't leave the water until the sun goes down. She loves the briny smell of it, the cold, the dark mystery of what could be beneath or around her. Quinn humors her for far longer than Santana did – because the water is practically icy – and stayed out with her for hours. Santana lies on a beach towel, tanning herself, occasionally rousing to grump or gripe at Finn or Puck or anyone who steps too close to her resting place. Brittany sends Quinn back when her lips start to lose color, and she swims out from the shore until she feels like a dolphin or an island or a jellyfish. She swims out so far that she almost forgot about anything else except for the waves and the salt and the numbing cold – until she hears the sharp crack of her name lash out across the water, and she realizes Santana is sitting up, resting on her elbows, and she looks like a tiny speck on the beach. Brittany can see Quinn looking towards her too, and now more people – Rachel (who never got in the water at all) and Mike, Tina, Artie, Finn – are staring in her direction. They look faceless. They remind her of puppets or Lego-people, featureless and round.

"Come back!" Santana shouts. She sounds annoyed, but Brittany has always been able to detect more in Santana's voice than her words, and she knows that Santana is only worried.

Reluctantly, she lets the tide float her towards the beach, kicking with her feet occasionally. It takes much longer to get back than it did to get out, and Brittany can tell that it bothers Santana and Quinn all at once. The other glee kids are giving her that puzzled, quizzical look they always give her – one that says _I don't understand you._ Brittany is used to that expression, so she mostly dismisses it, even though a few of them seem genuinely concerned.

She drags herself out of the water right as the sun is staining it orange and red and she feels waterlogged, and can still feel the rhythm of the waves in her limbs even when she collapses next to Santana on her towel. The air makes her skin bubble with goosebumps, and a chill pushes through her body. Santana is frowning at her, but Brittany rubs her face against the towel to avoid it, and she then Santana is gathering her wet hair up in one palm, pulling it away from her neck and shoulders. A second later, Quinn – on Brittany's other side – helps Santana wad her hair until it's up and away from her skin. Then another towel is thrown over her, and Quinn starts rubbing the water from Brittany's back.

"Are you tired?" Quinn's voice is quiet. "You swam all day."

"Yes," Brittany whispers. She knows that she wanted to come to this party to see her friends, so it's a little ironic that she spent the entire time away from them in the middle of the sea.

"Take a nap." Santana's voice is rough, but softer than Brittany expected. "I'll wake you up when they do cake and icecream."

Brittany almost forgot that it's Mike's birthday.

"We didn't get him a present," She slurs, but only because her eyelids are drooping, and the weight of Quinn's hands against her shoulders pushes her firmly into the sand.

Santana chuckles quietly. "He got to ogle our goodies all day. That's a great present."

Quinn hums out a laugh, and Brittany feels like she's cradled between them and their lowered voices and the secrets they share. She drifts into a sleep with Santana's palm warming her cheek and Quinn's wiping the water from behind her neck.

* * *

"Britt-Britt," Santana's voice is hushed, but it pulls Brittany out of her heavy, dreamless sleep. She blinks, realizes instantly that it's fully dark now, and that somewhere to her left, a bonfire is blazing.

"Do you want to eat?" Santana asks, her face close to Brittany's.

Brittany nod. Santana pulls her up and in a moment Brittany feels the water in her legs again, a faint rhythm pushing-pulling. But Santana steadies her, and finally she finds her balance. The odd, melancholy feeling she had while swimming is gone, replaced now by a surge of energy and a kind of fondness for Santana – all of her, even her stubborn fear – surfaces. Brittany wishes, wishes, wishes, but she knows the futility of wishing, so she doesn't. Instead she decides to be happy, and she squeezes Santana's fingers together between her own. She drops their hands before they reach the circle of light cast by the bonfire, and Brittany can sense Santana's relief, even if she can't see it.

She scans for Quinn, who is seated in a lawn chair on the opposite side of the fire pit, eating a hot dog. Mike and Puck are laughing and elbowing each other while roasting more in the fire, and she grins at Mercedes, who waves her over towards a red ice chest.

"What's your poison?" Mercedes says with a playful smile.

Brittany cocks her head. "There aren't any apples here."

"What?" Mercedes' smile falters, but only for a moment, before she just shakes her head and then digs out a bottle from the ice chest. "Here."

Brittany nods. "Two more." Her fingers close around the proffered bottle.

"Girl, you and I both know Santana won't drink beer," Mercedes laughs. "Puck already got her started with something else."

"Oh." Brittany wonders how she missed the smell of it. Probably because all she can smell right now is the dried salt on her skin. "Okay." She flashes a smile as Mercedes hands her another bottle. "Thanks."

"Anytime," Mercedes says, but she sounds a little dubious. Brittany wanders around towards Quinn, feeling the low burn in her muscles that make everything achy and tight. Quinn smiles appreciatively when Brittany settles at her feet, twisting the cap off of her beer.

"Aren't you hungry?" Quinn asks.

Brittany is starving. She feels like her stomach is a cavern, and the smell of Quinn's food makes her belly growl.

Quinn just laughs and hands over her styrofoam plate. "Here."

Brittany doesn't even hesitate. She starts cramming the sour cream and onion potato chips into her mouth, dipping them in the puddle of ketchup first.

Santana arrives a few minutes later with two more plates, and she laughs, shaking her head at the sight of Brittany finishing off Quinn's meal.

"Here's yours, fatty," Santana says playfully, and now Brittany can see the slight glassiness in Santana's eyes. But she's distracted by hotdogs and mustard and chips, and so she doesn't say anything, and for a while all she can hear is the crash of the waves and the sound of her own crunching.

Santana sits beside her and eats more slowly, taking long swallows out of a red plastic cup in between bites. Brittany can smell whiskey. She drinks her beer and throws sidelong glances at Santana, trying to gauge her, but Santana is too focused on her food.

Abruptly, someone starts playing music, and Brittany hears Rachel offer up a cheer. Santana grins a secret grin, and Brittany decides to mimic it.

Quinn's foot nudges against her hip, and Brittany angles her head back to smile upwards at her. Quinn seems tired, but Brittany thinks it could just be the firelight. She offers Quinn the remainder of a half-eaten hotdog, but Quinn just shakes her head.

"Do you want to dance?"

Quinn squints, glancing towards the fire and the shadows, and then she finally nods. Brittany pushes herself up with one palm against the sand, leaving her plate on the ground. Quinn stands up more slowly, and Brittany can feel her eyes watching as she dusts herself off. Quinn is smiling when Brittany finally takes her hand and draws her towards the others.

Brittany feels like she might be the only person as awake or as sober as she is. Everyone else is laughing too loud and moving too jaggedly, and it makes them seem silly and slanted. Brittany is reminded of _Alice in Wonderland,_ and how everything was a little topsy-turvy. She always gets that feeling around the glee kids whenever they drink, and she's humming the song about the Walrus and the oysters when Quinn wraps her arms around her waist, pulling them close.

Quinn chuckles when Brittany murmurs, "_they'd eaten every one_," into the crook of her neck. Brittany enjoys the look of Quinn's smile, bright and happy. It makes her search for Santana, though she couldn't say why this is her instinct. She finds her soon enough – Santana is dancing with Puck, and it makes her tuck her lips into her mouth. Brittany can't say why, but she knows to keep Quinn's back to the sight, because she doesn't want to watch the smile vanish from Quinn's face.

Brittany usually enjoys drinking, but she doesn't keep up with everyone else. It's both strange and funny to watch her friends as they progressively lose their balance and coordination, and become louder and more muffled all at once. She wonders – briefly – if this is how most of them perceive _her_ all of the time, but she lets that thought drift away, since it's a little sad.

Drinking has one of two effects on Quinn and Santana, and it's always like flipping a coin to see which will come out. Sometimes Quinn can be bitter and angry (even violent), and Brittany usually wants to put _that _Quinn to bed and hope she stays there. One of Santana's versions is hysterical and crying, and – well, she needs to go to bed, too, but you can't put those two _together_ because then screaming-crying-ranting sex happens and Brittany can never tell if it's _fun_ sex or _angry_ sex and she just doesn't know how to feel about it, whether it's kind of hot or kind of sad or (mostly) scary.

More often, recently, the two of them have been happy and clingy and sometimes overly affectionate, and that's the drunk version of Santana and Quinn that Brittany likes. She can tell that that's the way Santana is going to go tonight, but she is a little bit unsure about Quinn. At first, it seemed like the signs were good, because Quinn pressed wet kisses to her neck and murmured "I love you," in between dancing to Carrie Underwood songs. But now – well, Brittany hasn't been able to keep Quinn from seeing the way Santana dances with Puck, or Finn, or even Mike, and it's making her eyes go tight and irritated.

"Just don't worry about it," Brittany whispers when she catches Quinn staring _again._ She tries to pull Quinn close, but Quinn just shakes loose of her grasp and sets her jaw. Brittany is numb to the way her stomach drops when Santana laughs or flirts with someone else, and she had thought – well, she had thought Quinn was, too.

Quinn isn't.

Quinn clearly isn't unaffected by Santana paying attention to everyone _but_ her. And after every drink she consumes, it becomes more obvious to Brittany that a storm is brewing inside of her.

It makes her feel panicky, like she should gulp down as much liquor as possible in order to prepare for whatever will happen next. But something stops her, and she remains far too aware, full of too much clarity, as the night wears on.

She expects it to happen when Santana disappears with Sam. She watches Quinn anxiously, but she's surprised when Quinn does nothing more than crumple up her cup and throw it down angrily. Brittany expects Quinn to chase after Santana – to do _something._ But instead, Quinn slides away from the circle of light and the thunderous noise of their friends, in the opposite direction of Santana, towards Mike's house instead of further out along the beach.

Once again, Brittany feels torn. The growing distance from herself and Santana, and herself and Quinn, hooks into her navel and splits her in half. It doesn't hurt – quite. It's more like an ache or a longing, and it shudders and trembles and she doesn't know why or what to do. She wants to follow Santana and spirit her away from Sam, she wants to go to Quinn and hold her, but she knows she can't do both at once and it's frustrating. She feels trapped and like she's falling wild all at once, so instead of doing either of those things, she just does nothing.

Brittany sits down close to the fire and watches it, conspicuously still amongst so much noise and movement. No one notices, though, and she stares for a long time before she realizes that the party has died down, and the bonfire is getting small, and that it looks like the sky might be lightening in the east.

When she stands up, all of her body aches, her spine cracking with the effort of straightening. She feels stiffness in her hips and knees, and even her elbows. The morning is strangely damp and a little chilly, with the air coming off of the gray water, and she feels a little bit bad for the people passed out on the ground with no blankets to cover them. She wants to find something – but it's Rachel and Mike and Tina all sandwiched together, so she thinks they're probably warm enough. She glances down the length of the beach, but she can't see anything; no sign of Santana. Puck is asleep with his sunglasses on in a lawn chair, but she doesn't see Sam or Mercedes.

She chooses to go towards the house, and Quinn, since she doesn't know if she wants to face the thought of finding Santana curled up somewhere. Her knees flex and ache until walking warms them, and even then, her fingertips are still chilly. She prepares herself to jog up the wooden steps to Mike's house, but something stops her. Some noise or movement – she isn't sure. She pauses, ducking her head to glance beneath the house – the house on stilts – and her eyes widen at the sight of Santana asleep beneath it.

Brittany carefully picks through the shadows towards where Santana lies. She isn't sure how, but Santana is wrapped up in a blanket, with her head pillowed on her arms. She looks around, searching for Quinn or Sam or anyone, but it's deserted. Santana sleeps alone beneath the belly of Mike's house, and it's kind of a creepy thing for Brittany to realize.

"Santana," Brittany whispers, crouching down, ignoring the way her hips groan in protest. "Santana, wake up."

"Mph, no," Santana murmurs, her eyebrows squishing together. "L'me 'lone,"

"Let's go inside," Brittany hushes, and uses her fingers to push the hair away from Santana's face.

"Britt," Santana groans, cracking an eye open. "What time is it?"

Brittany shrugs.

"Just lay down with me," Santana mumbles, and then rolls her back towards Brittany.

Brittany glances upwards, a little bit apprehensive, but then she settles down beside Santana.

"Where's Quinn?" Santana asks, her voice thick with sleep.

"Inside." Brittany lifts one shoulder in a shrug, even though Santana can't see it. "I think."

"Lay with me," Santana mutters again, and Brittany finally acquiesces.

She doesn't like the way that sand is itchy against her skin, or that her body feels cold in all the wrong places. But the way Santana feels beside her is comforting, and the way that Santana breathes and moves in her sleep is like a lullaby. Eventually Brittany drifts off, her fingers curled in Santana's hair, one arm flung over her waist, pulling her close.

* * *

"You girls," Rachel Berry's voice is loud and full of something – disapproval, maybe. Brittany isn't sure. She squints against the sunlight, lifting an arm to shield her eyes.

"Time to get up," Rachel huffs, and Brittany would be annoyed by her superior tone if she hadn't seen her sleeping in a dog pile with Mike and Tina just a few hours ago. "We have to leave soon."

"Fuck off, Berry," Santana growls from beside Brittany.

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You have wonderful morning etiquette,"

"We haven't eaten anything," Brittany supplies.

Rachel makes a face, torn somewhere between confusion and annoyance, before she just shakes her head. "Look, we have to be out of here in an hour. You already slept through the clean-up."

"Ugh," Santana sits up slowly, cradling her head, eyes clenched tight. Rachel bites back a laugh at the crazy way Santana's hair goes everywhere, but Brittany is more concerned about the amount of sand sticking to every inch of her skin.

Brittany tries to smooth down the worst of Santana's hair, but Santana just bats her hands away.

"Where's Quinn?" Her eyes aren't even open, and the question is full of acid.

"Uh," Rachel glances between them nervously, and it makes Brittany look at her curiously. "She left. Said she would ride back with Mercedes."

"Really?" Santana seems surprised at that. Finally, her eyes peel open, and they're puffy and bloodshot.

Rachel shrugs.

Santana looks at Brittany questioningly, but Brittany can only offer a shrug of her own.

"Well, whatever," Santana grunts and then heaves herself upwards. "When's the soonest we can get out of this place?"

Rachel scowls. "That's a little bit ungrateful, isn't it? It was Mike's birthday."

"Save your preaching, Berry," Santana grouses, and Brittany's eyes widen at the amount of sand that Santana shakes off of her body. She slowly climbs to her feet and begins the task of rubbing the dirt and sand away from her own skin.

Rachel doesn't say anything, but she stomps away with dramatic flare. Brittany watches her go, and wonders about Quinn and Mercedes and if Santana is worried about people noticing them sleeping together. She glances towards Santana, who is pushing her left elbow over her right shoulder and grimacing at the way the muscles stretch. Brittany won't say anything if Santana doesn't.

Santana has very little to say as they help their friends finish packing up. The only ones missing are Mercedes and Quinn, and it leaves an odd twinge deep in Brittany's gut. She keeps turning towards her left, expecting to catch a glimpse of Quinn, and the constant reminder that she isn't there unnerves Brittany. She feels a flood of relief when she finally buckles herself into Santana's passenger seat, eager to get back to Lima and to find Quinn.

"How was she acting last night?" Santana asks, once they're alone. Brittany fiddles with the radio dial, more for something to do with her hands than to find any music.

"Mad." Brittany can see Santana's mouth hardening from the corner of her eye.

"Why?"

Brittany sucks in a breath and lets it go with a quiet sigh that sounds a lot like, "Sam."

Santana's shoulders bunch and tense, but she doesn't say anything else.

The drive back to Lima is practically silent, and Brittany lets her brain go cold and quiet, even though the day is warm and Santana's car starts to get foggy and steamy. It amuses Brittany, in a simple kind of way, to draw wet smiley faces on the window, even though Santana doesn't like the streaks it leaves behind.

"I think my house," Brittany says, when Santana bypasses the exit that would take them to her place. Brittany doesn't know why, but she feels like going directly to Quinn's might be a bad idea.

"You sure?" Santana asks. She's anxious. Brittany can tell by the way her voice sounds stretched tight and hard, like flint.

"Yeah."

Brittany's house is smaller than Santana's, and even Quinn's, and has twice as many people. Her parents don't take long holidays like Quinn's do or stay at work like Santana's, and even though her older sister is gone away to college now (like Quinn's) she has two younger ones that take up twice as much space as Martin. Brittany's house is cramped and tight and always smells like food. It's also loud. Whitney and Kayley tear through the house like a windstorm, destroying everything. They chase Lord Tubbington around and dress him up in their doll's clothes, pushing him around in a stroller, and Brittany's mother screeches and hollers at them (almost as well as Mrs. Lopez). Brittany's dad, like Dr. Lopez, usually tunes out the madness by reading his newspaper some other kind of book. Brittany has heard Santana muse on more than one occasion that Brittany is a lot like him, which Brittany doesn't agree with – she hates reading newspapers.

Brittany and Santana take turns taking showers, and Brittany notices the way the water that sluices off of her is dirt brown and gritty, and leaves a grimy layer on the bottom of the tub. She swishes it with her feet towards the drain, but she can't be bothered to rinse it out since Santana will be showering almost immediately afterwards, and will make it twice as dirty, anyway.

She's ringing out her hair with a towel, dressed in white pajama bottoms and a tank top, when Quinn pushes her bedroom door open. Brittany pauses, her hands wrapped up in the towel, her eyes widening fractionally. Quinn stands, suspended in the doorway, before she carefully walks over to Brittany's bed.

"Quinn," Brittany straightems, and pulls the towel away from her hair, allowing it to fall in wet curls about her shoulders. She inhales, and then says carefully, "You need a shower."

It's the truth. Quinn is still dirty from the beach, and worse – she's still wearing the same clothes, with gray streaks on her face and shoulders. Brittany is so unused to seeing Quinn disheveled that it shocks her, at first, though the sight of her is less jarring than the kind of energy coming away from Quinn.

Quinn seems closed up and frazzled, but also like she's dangerously close to breaking down. It makes everything inside of Brittany go fluttery, and she is torn between wanting to wrap Quinn in a tight hold to keep her together or shy away to avoid the impending explosion.

"Yeah," Quinn's voice is hoarse and tired, as if she hadn't slept the night before.

"Brittany, what's that new body wash you used? It smells – holy crap!"

Santana pushes the door open right at that instant, and she freezes, her jaw dropping. "Quinn!"

Quinn looks at Santana and doesn't say anything.

Brittany's stomach goes hard and queasy.

"Q," Santana whispers, and she drops the towel from her own hair. She had gotten dressed in the bathroom, in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and the warm smell of shampoo wafts from her. "You cut your hair."

Quinn still doesn't say anything.

Brittany looks between the two of them, and she knows – she _knows – _that this isn't going to go well. Santana is transfixed on the floppy mop of Quinn's hair, wild and spiky and so _short,_ and she's totally missing the way that it seems like Quinn is sparking and snapping while remaining extremely still.

"Why would you do that?" Santana sounds wounded. She steps further into Brittany's room, closing the door behind her, and a look of genuine pain crosses her face. "I _loved _your hair."

Quinn flinches, and Brittany tastes bitterness in the back of her throat.

"I'm not doing it again, Santana," Quinn finally says.

"I fucking hope not," Santana says tersely. "It's so short. You're practically a boy now."

"No," Quinn's tone is sharp. "I'm not repeating last year. I'm not doing it again."

Santana's face blanks. "What are you talking about, Q?"

Brittany stands at an angle with them, and she gnaws on her lip nervously. She watches body language, and even though Quinn is sitting down, she can sense Santana tensing up for an attack. Santana's frame goes rigid, and Quinn keeps her eyes glued to Santana's face, even though Santana's eyes skip away from her.

Brittany twists her fingers together in front of her.

"I'm talking about the boys, Santana," Quinn says. "I'm talking about us going back to pretending—"

"Pretending what?" Now it's Santana's turn to sound sharp. She sounds dangerous, like a blade against leather. It's a challenge and a warning all at once.

"Pretending that we're _nothing!"_

Brittany didn't expect Quinn to shout. She almost jumps when Quinn leaps to her feet, her fists balled at her sides. Santana does worse – she actually flinches, surprise flickering across her face, before it's replaced by dark anger.

"I'm not doing it!"

"Quinn, you've lost your mind," Santana says carefully, warily.

"I'm not putting up with your bullshit anymore, Santana," Quinn hisses. "And neither is Brittany."

Brittany feels like she's been electrocuted when she hears her name.

She remains completely silent when Santana looks at her.

"We deserve better from you."

"I don't know what you're talking ab—"

"Don't fucking _lie!"_

Brittany is completely flabbergasted by Quinn. She's never seen her so angry – not even when she was slamming Santana against the lockers at McKinley.

"Jesus, Q," Santana breathes.

"It isn't happening anymore!"

Santana finds her own anger, somewhere, and now her voice cracks out, sharp and mean: "You don't get a say in anything I do, Quinn!"

"Yes I do!" Quinn edges forward, and Brittany feels every muscle in her body tense. "I get a say in it and so does Brittany! Because we _love_ you, Santana, and you _love_ us, and I'm so sick and tired of you trying to pretend that you don't!"

"I do love you!" Santana surprises everyone, including herself (by the look on her face) when she says that. "I don't know why—"

"No!" Quinn cuts her off with an angry motion. "No! I'm in love with you, Santana! We _both_ are," She gestures emphatically between herself and Brittany. "And you're in love with us. You can't keep hurting us like this. You can't keep—"

"Quinn!" Santana interrupts, her face wrinkled and angry. "Stop! Just stop!"

"No!" Quinn edges forward, again, and Brittany feels herself shifting onto the balls of her feet, ready to stop them if they get violent. "No! I'm not going to stop, Santana, I'm going to make you listen—"

"I've heard enough, Q! You're being crazy!" Santana looks first to Quinn, her mouth parted, and then to Brittany. "Nobody is in love with two people at once. Nobody. It's not – it doesn't happen."

"Santana," Brittany speaks for the first time since this outburst happened, and her voice sounds weak and tremulous compared to the thunder in Santana's and the force in Quinn's.

She feels like the ground beneath her is shaking, but she knows that it's only her own limbs trembling.

Quinn's voice breaks. "I love you, Santana,"

Santana's face quivers.

"And I love Brittany."

Santana presses her lips together.

"I love you both. I'm in love with you both."

"We're just friends, Quinn," Santana says, more gently, but Brittany can hear the pain in her voice. "We're friends. I love you. But you're confused."

Quinn starts crying; the tears rolling down her face in a sudden flood. Brittany feels her own throat close in response.

"Talk to her, Britt," Santana says weakly.

Brittany just looks at Santana. A long moment passes between them, and Brittany can see the way that emotions wash over Santana – first pleading, then denial, and the same old flash of fear. Brittany thinks she is beginning to understand part of Santana's fear, now, though she wouldn't have ever guessed at it in the past.

"We aren't just friends, Santana," Brittany says finally. Her voice sounds resolute to her own ears. "You know we aren't."

"I can't believe you two," Santana says finally. The silence is thick, but Brittany can hear Quinn fighting back sobs. "What's wrong with you?"

"Santana," Brittany shakes her head, twisting the fabric of her shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "Maybe you should go."

Quinn sits back down on Brittany's bed, heavily, and Santana looks between them for another moment before she shakes her head. She grabs her keys from Brittany's dresser and closes the door quietly behind her.

Brittany settles beside Quinn, close enough that their thighs are touching, and Brittany doesn't even mind the fact that Quinn still smells like woodsmoke and sweat and the ocean.

"Do you think it's possible to be in love with two people at once?" Quinn asks, her voice weak and wobbly. She uses her fingers to push at the tears that leak down her face, and stares straight ahead. Brittany wraps an arm around her and pulls her close.

She takes a moment to think, to remember all of the moments that passed between her and Santana, and the ones that passed between her and Quinn, and finally the ones that occurred when they were together. Brittany thinks, for the first time, really thinks about it, because she usually doesn't spend time _thinking_ about things she already _knows._ But Quinn had asked a very serious question, and it deserved a serious response.

Still, she doesn't take long to come up with one.

"Yes." Brittany squeezes Quinn when she feels another sob rip through her. "I always have been."

"Yeah?" Quinn says weakly. She finally rests her head against Brittany's shoulder, and Brittany nods.

"What do we do?" Quinn's voice is raw.

Brittany sighs. "She won't – she won't do what you want."

Quinn is silent for a long moment. She sniffles, wipes her face again with her palm. "I love you, Britt."

"I know."

"Santana won't do what we want," Quinn says, swallowing. "But that doesn't mean –"

Brittany waits.

Quinn swallows again. "We can try. If you want."

Brittany's eyebrows fly upwards, and she turns, angling her body towards Quinn.

Quinn won't look at her. Instead, she stares straight ahead, clenching and unclenching her hands.

"Quinn." Brittany says it gently, drawing away enough so that Quinn has to sit up. "What are you asking me?"

Quinn shrugs. "I don't know. Is it stupid? To even want it? To even want to try?"

Brittany doesn't know what she's feeling. It's a mixture of light and dark, of heaviness and weightlessness, of happiness and sadness. There was a time when she would have done anything – literally _anything_ – to hear these kinds of words from Santana. Before she knew she wanted Quinn, too.

"It's not stupid," Brittany breathes.

Quinn studies her hands in her lap, biting her lip.

"Do you want to?"

Brittany thinks that, in this moment, Quinn is a lot like an acrobat on a highwire, and one wrong move could send her crashing down.

"Yes," Brittany says. "Yes, I want to try."

Quinn finally looks at her. Brittany can't read her as well as she can Santana – she never has been able to – but she can see the hope and fear and happiness mixed around on Quinn's face. She can see the disbelief, too, in the beginning of Quinn's smile.

"Really?"

Brittany nods.

Quinn swallows again, clearing her throat. "Do you think we – ah. Do you think we can be happy, without Santana?"

"I don't know." Brittany says honestly, and it's her turn to look away. "But I do know – Quinn. I know that we wouldn't have been happy the way it was before. You were right and brave to say the things you said. The things I should have said a long time ago."

Quinn's laugh is bubbly and wet, as if it's almost half a sob. "It felt stupid and wrong. But I couldn't hold it in anymore."

"I think," Brittany says carefully, and she picks up one of Quinn's hands when she says it. "I think that even without Santana, we can be happy together. Because we won't be holding anything in." Brittany looks at Quinn, who is watching her with such deliberate care. "We don't have to hold anything in anymore."

Quinn releases a breath, and then nods. "Okay, Brittany."

Brittany smiles. "Okay."

* * *

**A/N**: I'm sorry for such the long wait. Let me know what you think!


	13. Chapter 13

Quinn misses Santana. She knows that Brittany does, too, and her absence lingers between them like a ghost. In the first few weeks after Mike's birthday party – the very last stretch of summer – they refuse to say her name, as if by doing so, it would bring some kind of curse on them. Santana didn't call or text either of them even once, as if she somehow knew it would disrupt the tenuous balance between them.

Quinn has found the place between Santana and Brittany to be, at times, extremely comfortable – and at others, a bit vexing. She always thought of Brittany and Santana as two sides of velcro; Santana the sharp, rough side, and Brittany the soft, pliant side. But where does that leave Quinn in the mix? She would say she's more like Santana – loud and abrasive – but sometimes she feels like Brittany, supple and subtle.

Being between them often felt like being embraced more entirely than she's ever been in her life – it wasn't like being _between_ them at all, but more like _within_ them, but not in a creepy way. Other times, she felt as if she were an annoying rock in the bottom of a shoe, constantly disrupting what would be a pleasant stroll between a perfectly matched set. It was nothing they ever did deliberately – but the inside jokes, the long looks from beneath lidded eyes, the whispers in the dark; they combined to make Quinn feel like an outsider, sometimes. She never rebelled against it: she knew she could never compete with the level of absolute connection that Brittany and Santana had, and have always had. Instead she chose to enjoy it, in the same way she enjoys them; with warmth and affection, and overwhelming joy.

She never asked, but she always had a suspicion that Brittany realized this – maybe in the inchoate, intangible way Brittany has of _understanding_ things that almost nobody else ever can (she's like a damn mind reader which bothers and amazes Quinn all at once) – and would take deliberate care to make Quinn, not only feel included, but also feel special and _connected._ She usually did this by intentionally setting up some kind of obstacle that she knew Santana would balk at, and then teaming up with Quinn to convince her to do it anyway. The pair of them had a lot of fun that way (Quinn thinks Santana enjoyed it, too, for all of her bluster and noise), and it created a kind of unique bond between them.

Things were never so innocent or carefree with Santana – but Santana went out of her way, occasionally, to make Quinn feel as if it were different between them, that Quinn wasn't just an arbitrary third party to her and Brittany's relationship. Usually it had to do with a vulgar joke whispered in Quinn's ear while they sat at the dinner table, directly across from Mrs. Lopez, because Santana liked to watch Quinn squirm; it had to do with a sharp elbow to the ribs and Santana's muttered curse. Sometimes their bickering took on an exalted quality – instead of dark words and angry retorts, their insults would be spoken with sweet smiles and a patronizing tone, in a rhythmic back and forth banter to see which of them could keep their composure the longest. Quinn inevitably mastered this, no matter how Santana goaded her – she is literally the _queen_ of making compliments seem like insults, and (if she does say so herself) her vocabulary is leagues ahead of Santana's – which always resulted in Santana getting worked up and storming away, or (more often) she began some kind of wrestling match that Brittany would have to wriggle in the middle of to break up.

That seems to sum up the entirety of their relationships: Quinn has only ever worked _with_ Brittany to accomplish things, and only ever pit herself _against_ Santana in one contest or another.

These are the kinds of things Quinn can only see in hindsight, after Santana removed herself from their lives. She misses Santana, and she knows Brittany does too. Without Santana as a common purpose uniting them, Quinn is afraid things will feel awkward between her and Brittany, or that it might be somehow less passionate between them – more friendly than romantic.

Quinn loves Brittany, and has always loved her. She can look back now and remember the first time she ever had sex with only Santana, and she recalls the sharp accusation in Santana's tone; _you're so obvious, Fabray._ Quinn had been afraid, then, of loving Brittany, because she felt like Brittany was so out of her reach – that Brittany was, and always would be, Santana's (oh, how her heart ached at the realization). It still stings, somewhat, deep in her chest, when she lets herself relive that particular moment, the moment when she realized she was in love with Brittany Pierce, and in the next instant it dawned that she would never be able to have her.

It didn't take her long to believe herself to be in love with Santana, too, and that's really when things got complicated. Quinn has wanted the kind of love she imagined Brittany and Santana had all of her life; she wanted it abstractly at first, and then it began to form a face, and a smile, and a smell, and a name, and in the beginning it was Brittany and then it was Santana – and somehow, along the way, it was _both _of them, and nothing in her past or her upbringing has prepared her to deal with the concept of loving two people at once, at being in love with two people at once. Quinn doesn't know when she got so _selfish,_ but she stopped being passive and telling herself to _just enjoy it while you can_ and decided that she wasn't going to let herself be continually hurt by Santana Lopez. Quinn understands why Santana might not want to announce to the world that she's anything other than straight and normal; but what Quinn doesn't get is how Santana would be willing to sacrifice her own happiness, and hurt her and Brittany, in the name of keeping up appearances. Quinn didn't want Santana to come out so much as she wanted her to _stop kissing boys_, for the love of God.

Brittany might be sad – in the quiet and almost somber way she has – because she misses Santana, but she is still (as always) ridiculously sensitive to Quinn and Quinn's emotions, even when Quinn herself doesn't particularly understand them. She doesn't know why, now that she has Brittany – and really, that's the only thing she's ever wanted, isn't it? To be loved by Brittany? – she's so apprehensive about it, so concerned that things won't go right. It creates a nameless anxiety in Quinn, and she spends her time around Brittany agitated and afraid, worried that Brittany will realize at any minute that Quinn isn't Santana, Quinn isn't good enough; and then Brittany will disappear, just as totally as Santana has, and Quinn will be alone.

Brittany must intuit this in some way, because Quinn notices the way Brittany nurses her sadness for Santana only in the quiet, still moments between them. Brittany pushes it aside when she feels Quinn is becoming "too mopey," and instead distracts them both with other things. Sometimes, it's just sex, and Quinn is grateful that it's still as fulfilling as it was before, with Santana involved. Brittany is an extraordinarily thorough lover – something Quinn has always known, but never got to fully appreciate, because Santana is _impatient,_ and she can never abide watching Brittany have sex with Quinn for long. Without Santana to interrupt them, Brittany can make their lovemaking last for hours, which is something Quinn never thought she had the stamina for – but she surprises herself, sometimes, with her ability to match Brittany.

It isn't always sex, though. Quinn spends the last leg of their summer mostly cooped up with Brittany (because she would never force Brittany to endure long, silent days locked up in the Fabray domicile), and they squirrel away in her room, the door shut against the din and general chaos of the rest of the household. At first, Mrs. Pierce frowned and questioned them about Santana, but Brittany was able to divert her with talk of baking cupcakes. Quinn doesn't know the Pierces well, and other than the few weekends the three of them spent babysitting Brittany's little sisters while her parents went on dates, she has never spent any quality time with them. Brittany handles her family with the same ease that she handles Santana and Quinn, but Quinn always notices a vaguely uncomfortable expression on Brittany's face whenever she has to deal directly with her parents – almost as if she can't wait to get away from them.

Quinn can empathize with that; it's the same way she always felt about her own parents. For her part, Quinn actually really likes the Pierces, but her upbringing never allowed for a level of comfort or familiarity (always there was a wall built out of the hyperawareness of her _place_ and her _inadequacy_) between herself and adults, so she doesn't try to get to know them. Brittany pushes her into her room as quickly as possible whenever they enter the house, and shuts the door, and almost sighs with relief when no one comes knocking to find out what they're up to.

Over the course of the days and weeks, Quinn gradually becomes aware of the little knick-knacks scattered across Brittany's room, and by and by, she becomes charmed by them. Every surface is littered with things that ought to clash and create a sense of discomfort, but instead they come together in a strangely appealing way; at first, Quinn's jaw was set on edge by the casual clutter, because she keeps every part of her life as rigidly neat as possible, but she has come to accept the quiet disorganization of Brittany's room.

One night, when the missing of Santana becomes a heavy weight in Quinn's chest and a haunted look Brittany's eyes – yet it's still too early to have sex, because the entire family is still awake – Brittany leaves Quinn lying in her bed to rummage around in her closet. Quinn rolls on the rumpled comforter to watch her, a little curious. Quinn had thought about reading a book to Brittany, maybe something she would enjoy like _Alice in Wonderland_, but that reminded her too much of Santana and the nights she read from Jodi Piccoult novels aloud. Instead, she's just sad, and she knows Brittany can tell.

Brittany returns and settles herself in a cross-legged position on the bed, smoothing out the sheets, and she shows Quinn what she has clutched in her hands. Quinn sits up, because she doesn't quite understand – it's a block of wood, and also a long, thin, metal tube.

"What is this, Britt?" Quinn asks.

Brittany smiles, positioning the meat of her thumb along the tube, and Quinn realizes it's an exacto knife. In one long, solid stroke, she shaves a strip of wood away from the block, and uses her fingers to dust it to the floor.

Quinn crinkles her nose, torn between being amused at Brittany's attempt to whittle and annoyed at the idea of wood-dust in the bed.

"My dad has five brothers." Brittany doesn't explain what she's doing, but her hands start up in an easy rhythm. Quinn realizes Brittany must have some skill at this – the way she moves is practiced and effortless, and the chips fall away quickly. Quinn glances between Brittany's hands (which are long and narrow, and so pretty) and her face, lulled by the little _thwick thwick thwick_ noise of the knife cutting into the wood. "His dad – my grandpa – only had brothers. His dad, too. A lot of boys." Brittany grins, uses the side of her hand to sweep the wood chips onto the floor, and then starts again.

"They all learned how to carve wood. It was kind of a tradition for them."

Quinn watches as the very rigid, very rectangular wooden block is slowly shaped into something more round.

"When Kayley and Whitney were born, my dad knew there wouldn't be any more babies in our family." Brittany's thumb uses precise pressure to point the blade, with such control and ease that Quinn can hardly believe it. "Four girls. I think my mom didn't want to have any more kids after me, but he asked, because of the tradition."

Quinn glances up and catches Brittany's gaze for a split second – and she thinks that in this light, Brittany's eyes are the electric blue found at the quick of a candle flame, with the same shock of gold at the center.

"When Kayley and Whitney came home from the hospital, it was like he just knew. No boys for him. I have a bunch of boy cousins, but I guess it wasn't the same."

Quinn wonders how Brittany can talk and carve at the same time. Slowly, the block is being flattened and rounded, into a disc shape.

"He took one look at Ashley – you remember my sister, right?"

Quinn nods, biting her lip.

"He took one look at her and realized she wouldn't care. She was already wearing makeup and convincing my mom to let her dye her hair. But I was always kind of different, you know."

Quinn looks up again – trying to catch the meaning of Brittany's words in her face. Quinn always listens closely when Brittany speaks of being _different;_ curious to know to what extent Brittany is aware of how other people perceive her – and they don't always say that she's just _different._ Quinn knows what other, crueler people call Brittany, and she's always wondered if Brittany herself knows.

"I was just wild. All knees and elbows. I wanted to play Pirate Ship and King of the Castle and Star Wars. I always begged Santana to be Princess Leia so I could be Luke Skywalker." Brittany grins at the memory, forgetting the rule against saying _Santana_.

Quinn inhales, but it doesn't hurt the way she expected it would, to hear Santana's name.

"She got real feisty sometimes," Brittany tuts, scrapes the knife over the edge of the wood, shaving it down. "She wanted to be Darth Vader or even Chewbacca. I told her she was more like a wookie and she got upset."

Quinn chuckles, because the image of a tiny Santana insisting to be Darth Vader is really priceless.

"What did you do, then?" Quinn asks.

"I would just be Leia instead, and let her be Luke, or Han Solo. Sometimes we had weddings, and she made garlands out of dandelions and put them on my head. I wanted to braid her hair up, but she wouldn't let me, and she didn't know how to do mine. It looked less like a Star Wars wedding and more like just a wedding. We would kiss," Brittany's voice drops conspiratorially, and Quinn grins, hunching closer to her. "But it always had to be a secret, because _girls can't marry girls,_" and Brittany makes a face, like she's tasted something bitter. "Just quick kisses, you know." She smiles. "We were only eight."

"That's adorable," Quinn says, and she means it, and her heart squeezes for Santana.

"That isn't this story, though," Brittany says, and now the wooden piece in her hand is flat and a near perfect circle, about the same size as her palm. She uses the sharp edge of the knife to dig into it, and Quinn goes back to watching her as she works.

"My dad took me aside, maybe a week after the twins were born, and sat me down. He showed me the knife and the wood and he told me the stories about my grandpa and his grandpa and all of the grandpas, going back to some time when they lived in a village and were Vikings or something." Brittany frowns. "I think I should remember that part, because it's important – but it's kind of boring, like history," Brittany laments. "It's some kind of Pierce family tradition to be wood carvers. I think there was a point to it, back then, some kind of purpose. But now it's just a hobby, or a bonding thing.

"I knew what it _was_, of course, I mean – my dad and uncles and Grandpa all used to sit around out in the shed and spend hours carving stuff. I had a ton of wooden toys. My dad used to like to sit in the garage and carve things for my mom, and me and my sister, and sometimes even other neighborhood kids. He used to make wooden cars for Martin." Brittany smiles at the memory. "But they never let us do it – because we were girls."

Quinn is a little surprised by this revelation. Her eyebrows raise, but she doesn't comment on it.

"It's a family _tradition,_ you know," Brittany says, and even though she sounds a little morose, her hands are steady, whiling away at the wood. "Only the boys in the family get to do it. My dad even said that to me, when he showed me the first time."

"'But I won't have any sons, Britty,' He told me. 'Your mama isn't going to want to have any more babies, so I guess you'll have to do.'"

"Oh." Quinn looks at Brittany, searching her, dowsing for emotion. But Brittany's face is calm, still like the surface of a lake, and nothing bleeds through.

"So he let me. He told me I was the first girl to ever do it, but I don't really believe him." Brittany smiles, and while Quinn was watching her face, she finished her carving. She holds it up for Quinn to inspect.

"I mean, in all those years, not one single girl ever watched her dad or uncle or grandpa, and said she wanted to do it herself?" Brittany's tone is skeptical. "I think it's just a myth the men tell themselves, to make it sound important."

Quinn is only half listening to Brittany now, because she's studying the thing Brittany created. It's a thin, stylized disk, and it's really a circle within a circle. The center is solid, but spiraling outwards from it are thin arms, wavy and intricate, connecting to the outer edge. It looks like a tribal depiction of a sun.

"Do you like it?" Brittany asks, her voice cheerful.

"Yes," Quinn replies, rubbing her thumb over the edge of it. It's smooth and bright. "Why did you carve a sun?"

"Well, it's for you," Brittany states in a matter-of-fact way, as if that should explain everything.

Quinn smiles. "But why a sun?"

"Because you remind me of sunlight, Quinn," Brittany says, and her voice takes on a serious quality. Quinn's eyes search Brittany's face, trying to find the meaning behind those words.

"You're warm and golden and beautiful, like the sun," Brittany uses her hand to brush a thumb down the curve of Quinn's cheekbone, and Quinn doesn't even mind that Brittany's thumb is rough nd dry. "Sometimes a little too bright, sometimes a little too hot, but it's still pretty much the best thing in the universe."

Quinn chuckles, because Brittany's adorable in a casual way, but her throat is a little tight. "Maybe not the best thing in the entire universe, Britt." She smiles softly when her eyes click into place with Brittany's. "There's still you."

"Well, duh," Brittany laughs. "I meant besides me."

Quinn is still trying to find something to say – something to adequately express how she feels – but Brittany is already standing up, dusting herself off, and he tugs at Quinn. In a moment, she has the sheets balled up and thrown on the floor, and then she walks in her closet to dig for a clean set.

"I started doing more stuff like that when I got older. Stuff out of clay, out of metal. The art teacher, Mr. Reynolds? He would let me use the kiln and the soldering iron even when the rest of the class was painting or drawing."

Quinn has never heard this story before – she had no idea Brittany had such an interest in sculpting – and Brittany tells it while she does complicated gymnastics in an attempt to put the lilac fitted sheet onto her bed. She grunts and strains, and Quinn gets a really good view of her narrow hips and round ass.

"I made jewelry and stuff, and cool pottery. But I just kept wanting to do more. I _like_ making stuff, that's the thing, but carving with wood is kind of basic." She scrunches her face at Quinn from across the bed, and her hair is a wild, flyaway mess. "It didn't feel like _enough._ Even clay and metal didn't feel like enough. I talked to Mr. Reynolds about it, and he asked me if I wanted to go home with him after class that day."

Quinn feels all of her senses sharpen, and she gets a tangy taste in the back of her throat. Brittany must sense what she's thinking, because she shakes her head quickly. "Not anything – not anything like that, Quinn. He was really nice. He's a good guy, Mr. Reynolds."

"Okay." Quinn isn't convinced, and her heart feels almost pinched in half. "What did you guys do?"

"Well, he took me out to his place, and it was full of all this crazy _glass _work. And he had a tank of propane, and a tank of oxygen, and he made me put on goggles and wear gloves and we looked like mad scientists."

Brittany's enthusiasm is contagious, even if she is still a little concerned about this story.

"We used tubes and metal clamps, and a blowtorch. He showed me how to make artwork out of _glass, _using fire and my own hands and my breath. I felt like a dragon. It was maybe the most magical thing I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of magic in my lifetime, Quinn." Brittany is dead serious as she says this, even though her eyes are almost glowing. "I want to do that. I want to make magic like that."

"Do you have any of these sculptures that you've made?" Quinn asks.

Brittany shakes her head. "I only got to go over to his house a few times. It would be too weird. We never made anything specific, just kind of tinkered around. But I know it's what I want to do. Mr. Reynolds gave me a list of colleges that still offer glassblowing lessons. He told me that there isn't much of a market for that kind of art, but that it's the whole point of being an artist, anyway, and then he talked about starving and his wasted youth and how he took this job teaching spoiled kids to pay his bills." Brittany frowns, only a little bit. "I think he was stoned about ninety percent of the time."

"Oh, Brittany," Quinn laughs. Brittany is so perfect that it's overwhelming sometimes. "I never knew. Why didn't you say anything?"

Brittany is quiet a moment, chewing on her lips. Her eyes dart around the room, and finally land on Quinn's face.

"I never told anyone. Not even Santana," Brittany says it, as if she has to assert it twice – like Santana is her own bracket, outside of the realm of other people. "Because it's like a secret dream. It's something I want _so badly_ that I'm afraid if I tell anyone, I'll mess up my chances at having it."

Quinn never knew that Brittany put any thought into her future at all, and she had no idea that Brittany had a hidden talent for three dimensional art. She looks down at the tiny wooden sun in her hands, and she curls her fingers over the edges, feeling the almost pristine evenness of it. "So why did you tell me?"

"I can tell you my dreams, Quinn." Brittany says it so flippantly, just like that. "You'll keep them safe. They won't disappear because I told you."

Quinn feels a sharp pain in her chest, followed by a flood of warmth. She bites her lip, hard, and swallows, pushing down the wave of emotion that makes her breath hitch.

"Thank you," She manages, but only after several long, awkward moments.

Brittany is smiling, and her face is golden and glowing, and Quinn thinks she must have a little bit of the sun inside of her, too.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Britt."

Brittany rounds the bed, and starts shaking off the comforter and pillows.

"What about you? Did you ever have a dream like that?"

Quinn watches her back, puzzling over the answer. "I thought about being a real estate agent once."

Brittany laughs. "No. A real dream, Quinn."

Quinn gnaws on the inside of her cheek, glancing from her palms to Brittany's back. "I think I'd like to try being an author."

"Yeah?" Brittany straightens and turns, her hands full of pillows. "I think you'd be great at that."

Quinn smiles, and Brittany smiles back, and some sort of weight slides away from them.

"Santana wants to be a singer, you know," Brittany says, and she walks over to arrange the pillows on the bed. "That's what she'd say if she were here."

"Doesn't surprise me." Quinn wonders how all of them have such lofty dreams – but how, in all the time they spent together, they never once talked about it. The three of them never speculated about the future, or talked about colleges, or where their lives would go. Quinn knows, for her part, it's partially because she never wanted to think about it – how this is their senior year, and maybe their lives will change at the end. Maybe they wouldn't be together anymore, and that's a thought she never wanted to face.

They aren't all together now, though.

"If she were here now," Quinn says thoughtfully, "What would you have carved her?"

Brittany hums, straightens out the teal-colored bedspread. "I think a seashell."

"And why's that?"

Brittany shrugs, running a hand through her hair to flatten it. "The same reason I picked a sun for you. Santana reminds me of seashells."

"But _why?_"

"Because they're so twisty and secret. Because you can never really see what's inside of them, all the way, not the big ones. Because of all the little ridges and chips and crazy places. And when you listen to a seashell, there's music inside of it."

Quinn spends a moment thinking about this, and then she nods, but not without a bit of a wry smile on her lips. "That's pretty poetic, but it makes me kind of jealous – Santana has _music_ inside of her, but I'm just a big ball of burning gas."

Brittany laughs. She rounds the bed and presses a kiss to Quinn's cheek.

"Without the sun, everything on the planet would die."

"Yes," Quinn agrees, and she helps Brittany tug off her t-shirt. "But the sun also gives people cancer, Brittany."

Brittany hums again, a little noise in the back of her throat.

"The thing about a seashell," She says, very carefully, "Is that if you drop it, and it falls hard enough, it will shatter into a million pieces."

* * *

_Lets sleep at ur house tonite._

Quinn is surprised to receive this text message from Brittany – for one, Brittany almost _never_ texts unless it's to forward some kind of chain mail thing, or to send smiley faces. Occasionally, Quinn will receive a question that's mostly incomprehensible, and she usually gives up trying to interpret it before she'll just call Brittany to figure out what she wants. For another, they haven't spent the night in her room all summer, and she thinks it's a bit of an odd request. Still, she imagines Brittany might be feeling a little stir-crazy, because they haven't done much else besides hang out in her room and occasionally play Barbies with her little sisters.

_Ok._

Better to make it short and to the point.

_Do you want me to come pick you up?_

Quinn stares at her phone, chewing on her lip. She spent the whole morning helping her mother pack up her sister's room – this is Josie's last year at college and she's _engaged_ and everything is going so _marvelously_ for her, isn't it? She won't even be coming home for winter or spring break (not like Quinn has spent any kind of quality time with her since freshman year) since she'll be vacationing with her fiancé. Quinn had to spend the day pretending to be bubbling over with happiness, when really, it was a bitter pill to swallow; she's _never_ been able to hold up to her sister in any regard, and she simply quit trying the moment she saw those two pink lines on the pregnancy test. Quinn might have herself fooled on most days that she doesn't care about things like her mother's approval or doing as well as Josie at _anything,_ but not today. Today, she feels like Lucy, chubby and awkward and ugly, and not good enough.

She can't wait to see Brittany, and hopefully forget about these painful last few hours.

_No. Ill c u latr._

It was very mysterious, even for Brittany, but Quinn decides not to question it. Her mother calls her name from the other room, and with a sigh, she shoves her phone back in her pocket.

Later, much later, when Quinn thinks she's had about all she can take of Judy Fabray and her wine-tinted simpering, Brittany shows up.

Just seeing her walk in helps to clear some of the clouds from Quinn, who has been snappish and sullen since about midday. Judy rushes forward to usher Brittany into the house – though Brittany's been here dozens of times before – and Quinn relaxes, smiling when their eyes meet. Brittany looks casually gorgeous in faded denim cutoffs and a white tank top. Her bare arms and shoulders are dark golden, spattered with freckles; her hair falls to about midway down her back, now, and is platinum-streaked from all their hours in the sun. Quinn wonders, sometimes, if she has ever really appreciated how beautiful Brittany really is – how wholesome and _stunning_ she is.

Quinn wonders if she's going to get her period soon, and if it's _that_ that makes her think such sappy things.

Still, she's smiling when Brittany approaches her, and Quinn notices the black purse with long, thin straps Brittany carries. It's unusual for her – she only carries a purse on occasions that call for dressing up – but Quinn doesn't comment on it. Brittany brushes a quick kiss against Quinn's cheekbone, and Quinn's palm pats against her shoulder. It's the most Quinn thinks they could get away with in front of her mother.

Judy doesn't seem to mind, or think anything is amiss. She asks Brittany if she's hungry, and Brittany declines. Quinn can tell Brittany is excited and eager about something – she hovers, and ghosts a hand against the small of Quinn's back whenever Judy isn't looking. It has a possessive, almost insistent quality to it, and Quinn is buzzing with curiosity and anticipation. Brittany is up to _something._ She has a peculiar twinkle in her catty, slanted eyes, and it makes Quinn's belly drop every time they lock into place with hers.

"Do you girls want a glass of wine? Maybe you'd like to listen to some Mozart with me on the deck?" Judy is more than half gone, at this point – Quinn can tell by the glassiness in her eyes, and she wants to refuse. She hates the thought of drinking with her mother; and she's mortified at the idea that _Brittany_ might see more of Judy than Quinn would want.

"Sure," Brittany answers, without waiting for Quinn to respond.

Quinn narrows her eyes, but Brittany just flashes a grin at her.

They spend the next hour chatting with her mother on the deck, as the sun sinks into the western horizon. The heat is cloying and thick, the air buzzing with mosquitos and chiggers. It smells like freshly cut lawn and fertilizer. The flowers in the flowerbed are mostly for show, pansies in all different colors. Quinn remembers when her mother used to garden as a serious hobby – before the divorce. Judy used to keep their backyard stocked with exotic plants and flowers, and spend hours tending to them. Now she can barely bring herself to spend any time outside at all.

Quinn worries about her mother, but at the same time is repelled by her. They haven't had any kind of meaningful relationship since – well, _ever._ She can't lie to herself and say that things were better before she got pregnant; they weren't. But things do seem to have gotten worse for her mother since her father ran off. It makes her sad, in an abstract kind of way. She doesn't know what to do about it, or if there's anything that can be done.

Brittany is attentive and charming, and Quinn knows that her mother loves Brittany. Quinn hasn't been the sweet, pleasant little daughter that she was before she got kicked out and was forced to live first with Finn and then Puck and then Mercedes during her sophomore year. She barely spends time with her mother, and they don't have a speaking relationship at all. But Brittany is kind, and seems genuinely interested in the things Judy natters on about – her Christian ladies' club meetings, or whatnot – so Quinn sits back and lets them talk, and sips dark red wine out of a clear wineglass (no cheap plastic replicas to be found here). She lets her mind wander, and she remembers playing in the sprinklers with Josie as a child – in their matching pink bathing suits – while her dad barbecued and her mother drank mimosas from the deck. She remembers being warm and happy. It feels like a different life. It feels like a different person.

"Oh, look at the time," Judy says, predictably, the second the sun fully disappears. "You girls can have one more glass of wine. But no more than that. Try not to stay up too late." She pats Brittany's hand affectionately as she stands up, and runs her palm down the back of Quinn's hair as she passes. Judy hadn't been happy about her impromptu haircut. Nobody had.

Quinn actually kind of likes it. She knows that Brittany does, too.

It hurts too much to think of how Santana feels, so she doesn't.

"Do you want more wine?" Brittany asks, her voice low. Quinn feels warm and relaxed, not quite buzzed. Her mother still buys expensive wine, even though Quinn knows that she'll probably have to sell the house soon. Judy never got a job, and relies on alimony and child support. But that will run out eventually, when Quinn graduates.

The thought of her mother actually earning a living kind of perturbs Quinn, and she doesn't know why, so she just nods mutely at Brittany. Brittany reaches down and pours herself another glass, and tops off Quinn's, and then sits the bottle back down.

The silence between them is easy, and Quinn appreciates that about their relationship. In a crowd of people, Brittany can often be lively and energetic, even talkative; but she's amazingly adaptable to others, and she tends to match their moods. Quinn is in a quiet mood tonight; so, too, is Brittany. Quinn wonders what it is about Brittany that makes it so – how she came into the world so fully equipped to understand people, even more than they understand themselves.

They hold hands and drink their wine, alone and content. Eventually, in the purple dusk, lightning bugs begin to wink, and Brittany chuckles. Quinn turns to smile at her. "Do you want to catch some?"

Brittany's grin is huge, taking up her whole face. She looks so delighted and happy.

"Not tonight," She whispers, and squeezes their fingers. "I have a surprise for you."

"You do?" Quinn is curious again, and she remembers the way Brittany seemed spilling over with enthusiasm earlier in the evening. "What is it?"

"We have to go to your room." Brittany sets her wineglass down. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Quinn says, even though she still has over half a cup left. She leaves it perched on the edge of the deck.

Brittany leads her through her own house, and she follows behind, their hands connecting them as they tip-toe through the darkness. Brittany is agile and light on her feet, and she even remembers to avoid the squeaky fourth step on the way up. Quinn finds it endearing - even though, she's pretty sure, Judy is fast asleep, and will remain that way until sometime tomorrow morning. Brittany must remember it from sleepovers they had when Russel still lived here, and they had to be quiet not to wake him, sneaking up and down the stairs.

Quinn's room is almost like a time capsule. It's nearly identical to the way it was their freshman year, and it makes Quinn feel young and small. She thinks the reason she never spent much time changing it is because she was never _here_ – all of her spare time was with Santana and Brittany, and the time she spent alone in her own room was just a waiting period until she could be with them again. It's disconcerting for her to realize that she's more comfortable in Brittany's cramped house or Santana's pool than she is in her own bedroom.

Brittany had pushed Quinn ahead of her, and stayed behind to shut the door; by the time Quinn turns around to look at her, she's already rummaging around in her purse.

Quinn smiles, because she realizes that she doesn't have to feel unhappy here, right now, because at least she has Brittany.

Brittany makes fleeting eye contact with her before she reveals her hand, clutched around a long, smooth purple object. It takes Quinn a full twenty seconds before she realizes what it is.

She almost coughs when she does, and she immediately feels warmth on her cheeks. "Britt— what is that?" Even though she's pretty sure she knows.

"It's a penis. Well, not a real one," Brittany sets her purse down on Quinn's dresser. She tugs around inside of it for a moment and then reveals what, Quinn is sure, is a harness.

"Yes," Quinn doesn't know what else to say.

Brittany fiddles with it, hooking the two pieces together, and she gives it a few experimental tugs to make sure that the dildo is secured firmly inside of the straps. Then, with a flourish, she hands it to Quinn.

"Me?" Quinn can't think. Her tongue is thick in her mouth, and her cheeks are red. She feels more drunk than she is, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.

"Well, yeah." Brittany shrugs. "Lately, I've been wanting.." Brittany hums, walks around Quinn, and pulls her tanktop over her head. "You know? And before, when I wanted _that_, I would just.. have sex with a boy."

Quinn turns around slowly, still puzzled, and she watches as Brittany undresses. Brittany is happy and excited, almost oblivious to Quinn's hesitation.

It hits her slowly, that Brittany is admitting that she had sex with boys _before_. Before when? At what point did Brittany have sex with boys?

"Because Santana and I weren't _dating,"_ She explains, as if she can read the pain and confusion on Quinn's face. "Because we weren't _girlfriends._ So I could still have sex with boys, if I felt like it. But you and me are dating, right?" Brittany tilts her head, studying Quinn. She's wearing a thin pink bra, and Quinn is reminded sharply of all the time they spent in bikinis over the last few years.

"Yes," Quinn answers.

"We're _girlfriends. _We're _together._" Brittany smiles, as if the idea is one of the best she's ever heard of. "Sex with boys would be cheating."

"Yes," Quinn replies, more firmly now. She feels a little concerned that they never had this talk – she didn't think that they needed to. It makes her wary to think of Brittany having sex with boys at any time in the recent past. "Sex with _anyone_ else would be cheating." Quinn says, and she knows they both think of Santana.

Brittany nods. "So," She steps forward, and tugs gently at the harness dangling limply from Quinn's hand. "This is a good idea."

"Um.. but you want me..?" Quinn looks down at it for the first time, and she studies it. She squeezes it between her palms, feeling the way that it gives, just slightly, under pressure, and then springs back. She rubs her thumb over the tip of it, then along the shaft. It's smooth and a little tacky-feeling.

"Yes," Brittany grins. "Don't you ever miss it, sometimes?"

Quinn looks up at her, curiously. "Miss what?"

"Sex with boys."

Quinn bites her lip, and then shakes her head.

Brittany's face stills, and then she nods. "Neither does Santana."

Quinn barks out a slightly bitter laugh, as if she can't quite believe that.

"The thing is," Quinn begins, when Brittany moves away and towards the bed. Brittany is unbuttoning her shorts and sliding them down her thighs. "I only ever had sex with Puck once."

Brittany glances over her shoulder at Quinn, narrowing her eyes.

"Yeah," Quinn doesn't know why _that_ makes her blush – but it does. She turns the strap-on over in her palms.

"And nobody else? Not Sam?" Brittany asks as she slowly straightens.

Quinn shakes her head.

"Nobody else? Not _ever?_"

Quinn shrugs.

"I don't really remember it." Quinn prefers it that way. She would rather her memory be filled up with the sights and scents and sounds of Santana and Brittany, rather than have that one, ugly image that has only ever been associated with shame and pain.

"Oh, Quinn," Brittany sighs, and Quinn is staring resolutely at the carpet when Brittany shuffles over to her.

Brittany tilts her chin up and kisses her gently on the lips, and Quinn keeps her eyes open until the last possible moment. Brittany's eyes are gray in the muted light of Quinn's room, and Quinn can't interpret the expression in them.

"I wish you would have _told_ me," Brittany says, once they've peeled apart. She wraps her arms around Quinn and holds her, for a moment, in stillness and silence. Quinn lets her head rest on Brittany's chest, inhaling the clean, familiar scent that is Brittany, mixed with the faint smell of red wine and her mother's perfume, which lingers about both of them like a cloud.

Brittany pulls the strap-on away from Quinn, and then she kisses her again, this time with a little more pressure, a little more heat.

"This is going to be so much _fun,_" Brittany says, and it makes Quinn smile uneasily at her.

"What is?"

Brittany grins, waves the strap on suggestively.

Quinn looks down at it, slowly, then back up at Brittany.

"Oh!" Quinn doesn't know if her cheeks could get any redder. "On _me?_ You want to—"

"Yes," Brittany nods excitedly, and bounces on the balls of her feet. "Yes, I want to."

"I don't know," Quinn frowns. "It's going to hurt."

"I'll be very careful," Brittany says, and Quinn believes her. Brittany, of the three of them, is the most careful lover; she has the patience and dexterity to avoid roughness unless it's deliberate. Santana never had the control (or desire) to be so tender, and even Quinn gets worked up sometimes. Still, Quinn spends a moment debating, staring at the length of purple silicone uneasily.

"All right," She says, almost reluctantly. "I trust you."

Brittany smiles at Quinn with such tenderness that it makes Quinn's throat close.

"Get naked," Brittany says, tugging at the ends of Quinn's hair affectionately.

Quinn is nervous. She can't remember the last time the prospect of sex made her nervous – usually she's giddy with anticipation, or hot with impatience; usually she can't wait to get Brittany naked and just the thought of Brittany's mouth on her can make her belly tighten. But as she strips her clothes off, she feels anxiety claw at her, and her heart pounds in her ribcage.

When she's naked, she sneaks beneath her comforter almost shyly, even though Brittany has seen her nude countless times. Brittany discards the rest of her clothing, too, and tightens the series of buckles until she's satisfied. She tugs (almost comically) at it, satisfied that it's secure. When she looks up, Quinn is curled beneath her blankets with an owlish expression on her face.

"I actually hoped drinking wine would help relax you," Brittany says, climbing up the length of Quinn's bed.

Quinn laughs. She had felt loose and supple, earlier, but all traces of that feeling are gone, replaced by sheer nerves. Brittany smiles, too, once she draws even with Quinn, and Quinn realizes she doesn't have any _real_ reason to worry. This is still Brittany, after all. Her friend Brittany – her _girlfriend._ The first girl she ever kissed, and the first person who ever gave her an orgasm (with the help of Santana). Quinn trusts and loves Brittany.

"I love you," Quinn says, and she pushes a loose length of Brittany's hair behind her ear. Brittany smiles into her palm, turns her head, and kisses Quinn's thumb.

"I love you, too."

"I'm a little bit nervous," Quinn admits.

"I know. If you want me to stop, I'll stop." Brittany flashes a wicked grin. "But you won't want me to stop."

Quinn chuckles. Brittany leans down to kiss her slowly, and she gradually settles her body flush against Quinn's. Quinn appreciates the familiar weight, even though she's keenly aware of the stiffness between them. Brittany's lips are soft and gentle, and Quinn remembers the first time they ever kissed, how she thought that kissing Brittany was like drinking sweet wine. Tonight, that's even more true, and she makes the decision to let go and stop thinking.

Brittany is good at helping her make it – she uses her mouth with deliberate precision, and she seems content to kiss Quinn forever. By degrees, Quinn feels herself heating up, responding to the way Brittany's tongue strokes in and out of her mouth slowly, lazily. It's a kind of subtle impatience that begins somewhere in her navel, and it makes her antsy; she kisses Brittany back, more insistently, and her fingers curl into loose fists in the blankets. Her body begins a slight, suggestive dance beneath Brittany's, her hips moving almost imperceptibly. If Brittany notices these little cues, she ignores them – instead, she continues to kiss Quinn, though Quinn thinks she can detect a hint of a smile.

Quinn reaches up with one hand to cup the base of Brittany's neck, and Brittany pulls away from her, smiling. Quinn peels her eyes open. "Brittany," She whines, and squeezes her neck.

"We're going to go slow," Brittany says, but she acquiesces by pressing her mouth to the place beneath Quinn's jaw. Quinn bites her lip, groaning, and her body rolls beneath Brittany.

Brittany spends her time kissing along the length of Quinn's neck, from the base of her ear down to her collarbone, and Quinn has to squeeze every muscle in her abdomen in order to stay still. She is used to the way Brittany likes to manipulate her body – working over it with easy expertise, but this is excruciatingly slow, even for Brittany. She quickly feels overheated, almost feverish, and she can't help the way she whimpers and moves against Brittany. Her hand scratches at Brittany's bare shoulders, a sign of impatience.

Brittany smiles into her neck, and then opens her mouth and begins to suck, slowly. Quinn groans and arches, and the heat darts down the center of her body to pool between her legs. She feels the tight, incessant pressure in her middle, and she knows that soon every inch of her will be throbbing. The feeling of Brittany on top of her is tantalizing and unsatisfying – the blanket is still between them, and she wants to feel Brittany's skin, her breasts. She slides her palm down Brittany's back, pulling her closer.

"Are you wet?" Brittany whispers, unexpectedly, against the outside of Quinn's ear. Her lips are moist and hot, and Quinn shivers when they kiss delicately over her earlobe.

Quinn nods, sucking in air, and she tilts her head, giving Brittany better access. "Yes,"

"I want to feel," Brittany murmurs, and Quinn almost squirms in the effort of ripping the blanket down between them. It bunches up around her hips, and Brittany shifts until she can kick it away from them. When she settles down again, Quinn hisses out a breath at the shock of Brittany's skin against hers, because all of her nerves are sensitive and eager. Brittany's hipbones slide against hers, and their ribs are flush together; Quinn inhales, and feels the soft weight of Brittany's breasts, and she wants to wriggle and move until Brittany touches her. She notices the unnaturally firm strap-on between them, but she's more focused on the way Brittany licks over the shell of her ear.

"God," Quinn groans, squeezing her eyes shut, when Brittany sucks on her ear. It makes her feel like she has no control over her body at all – it jerks and twitches with the effort of remaining still, because she wants to thrash wildly into Brittany. Brittany slides a palm down Quinn's side, brushing briefly over her breast on the way down. Quinn whines, turning her head, and she nuzzles beneath Brittany's chin, hiding her face, when Brittany's fingers slip between her legs.

"Oh," Quinn can hear Brittany's smile in her voice. Her breathing is stuttered and uneven, loud and harsh in the small space between her mouth and Brittany's neck.

"Britt," Quinn pants, practically begging. Brittany's fingers tease along the outside of Quinn's lower lips, stroking down them, but not within, and Quinn's body is _shaking_ because she's so worked up and so desperate for Brittany.

"I know," Brittany whispers, and with that she slips a finger inside of Quinn. Quinn's spine arches, and she gasps, strangling on her own breath. Brittany slides back out, and then in again, with a second finger.

Quinn grips Brittany's shoulders, her nails digging, because she has to fight herself to remain quiet and still. Brittany nudges her face along Quinn's, brushing their cheeks together, and then she kisses Quinn. Brittany rocks slowly into her, gently, until Quinn's hips are rising up to meet Brittany's hand, and the sound between them is a slick, wet slapping. Quinn grunts and gasps, and finally pulls her face away from Brittany, because she can't breathe. She bites down, hard, on her lower lip when Brittany adds a third finger, and she feels herself stretching to take it in.

"God," She sobs, because Brittany is going slow and her body doesn't want slow, anymore – her body wants fast and hard and _now_, and her pulse is hammering in her ears and she can't think of anything else. When Brittany slides out of her completely, she whines, and her eyes fly open in time to catch a glimpse of Brittany slicking her own hand over the purple dildo between them.

Quinn can feel her heartbeat in every single part of her body, a frantic, desperate rush. She feels drunk and dizzy and needy, but her stomach still drops when she realizes what is coming next.

Brittany kisses her, softly, on the corner of her mouth, and Quinn sucks in a breath. Brittany's knees spread Quinn's legs further than she's used to – and she muffles a gasp against Brittany's shoulder when she feel Brittany tugging on her leg, pulling it up to hook around Brittany's hip. She feels wide open and exposed, and she has one, wild moment where she considers asking Brittany to stop, but then she feels it against her and she stops breathing.

Brittany is slow, and she watches Quinn's face. She uses her hand to guide the tip of it inside, and she pauses, letting Quinn get used to the way it feels. Quinn's forehead wrinkles because it's uncomfortable – it's different. Her body is still throbbing and hot, and aching for contact, so she wriggles beneath Brittany, breathing harshly. Brittany moves her hips, slipping it inside further, and Quinn hisses because it kind of _burns_ but it still feels good and she doesn't know how to react. Brittany keeps watching her, and she waits until her eyebrows slowly relax before she pushes it in the rest of the way. Quinn bucks, surprised, and stutters on a moan – and now Brittany's arms come up to hold her, and it's so _strange_ to have both of Brittany's arms around her and their hips flush together, nothing between them, their bodies set together like two pieces of a puzzle.

"It hurts," Quinn whispers, because it does, and she feels tight and uncomfortable and that stretched, burning sensation increases until it almost overwhelms her.

"Just give it a second," Brittany murmurs, and she peppers her face with light, gentle kisses, over her cheekbones and forehead and chin, while a hand slowly strokes through her hair. Quinn is panting, and her hands are like vices, holding Brittany close. She becomes aware of her own breathing – short, almost panicked bursts of air – and she works to slow it down.

"Are you ready?" Brittany asks, and Quinn squeezes her eyes closed and nods. She doesn't know if she really is, but part of her just wants this to be over.

Brittany nudges her hips experimentally, and Quinn hisses, but in the next moment Brittany has their mouths together again and Quinn becomes distracted by the brutal, almost furious way Brittany kisses her. She feels like she's drowning – it's such a contrast to the way she was being kissed before. Quinn's throat murmurs helplessly, and her hands tangle in Brittany's hair. Brittany's tongue swipes over hers again and again, and it sets a rhythm in her body, until her own hips raise upwards. She's surprised to notice that it doesn't hurt, exactly, anymore; she still feels full and tight, but her body wants to rock against it, so she does, and she grunts when Brittany starts to move.

Quinn's skin is flooded with rampant heat, again, and one of her arms clutches above her head at her pillow. Brittany slides out and then back in again in short, slow movements, rocking their bodies together, and when Quinn arches beneath her, Brittany lowers her mouth to Quinn's nipple. Quinn bites down on her lip, muffling tiny, whimpered moans. The way Brittany moves against her – in a sluggish, deliberate rhythm – coupled with the feeling of suction at her breast makes her squirm and writhe; her body feels like a cauldron of heat and light and pressure. She gasps, because Brittany jolts against her once, _hard,_ and the sound of them coming together is slick and the weight of Brittany's hipbones on her pelvis is both strange and delicious all at once.

"_Fuck_," She groans, because Brittany pounds into her again, and it doesn't hurt at all. "Faster."

Brittany surprises her by kissing her neck once, and then biting it, almost hard – Quinn has a moment to weave her hands through Brittany's hair before Brittany starts moving her hips quick, and hard. Quinn can't keep herself quiet, because the feeling is overwhelming; Brittany drives into her again, and again, and sharp, slapping noises come from between them – Brittany is breathing hard and Quinn's body thrums, taut and tight like a wire. She feels herself draw up and tighten, and at the last moment Brittany kisses her to drown out the noise of her coming. Quinn's body freezes, paralyzed for an instant, before she's moving and thrashing wildly, riding Brittany. Brittany keeps moving at an easy pace; and mostly Quinn can feel the soft heat of Brittany's lips and her hands holding her when she spirals over.

It seems to take Quinn a long time to settle down, because her blood is roaring furiously in her ears and every single part of her body is too hot, almost an inferno. Brittany kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, but there's something urgent in the way she does it – and Quinn notices, for the first time, the energy coming off of Brittany; it's harsh and impatient, and it reminds her somewhat of Santana.

"Britt," Quinn's voice cracks, because her throat is dry. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Brittany breathes, but her eyes are glittering and bright. "Are you?"

"I'm fine." Quinn pulls back, amused, to study Brittany's face.

Brittany bites her lip. "That was just really _hot,_ and I'm so turned on right now," She admits. Quinn can see that her face is pink. "But I want to cuddle you if you want me to."

Quinn offers a short laugh. "It's okay. Just be gentle when you –"

But Brittany is already easing away, slowly, and Quinn tries to keep herself relaxed as the dildo pulls out of her. She notices, now that it's over, a faint soreness between her thighs, a slightly painful achiness. It reminds her of the morning after she lost her virginity – but she brushes that aside, because this isn't _that_, at all, and she's happy and content and her muscles feel warm and loose.

Brittany stands up, quickly, and she's working to unsnap the buckles and pull the harness down. Quinn's eyebrows shoot upwards when she notices the way Brittany's thighs are sticky, and how Brittany quickly grabs a discarded shirt and wipes the inside of the harness down.

"_That_ turned on, Brittany?" Quinn tries not to laugh, but it's hard. She feels a little proud that she was able to evoke that kind of response – it never ceases to amaze her, really, that it's _her_ having this effect on other people, especially someone she cares about and _wants_ as badly as she does Brittany.

Brittany just grunts, and after hastily cleaning up, gestures for Quinn to stand up. Quinn's legs are a little unsteady when she puts weight on them, and Brittany smirks at the tremor. Quinn narrows her eyes and Brittany's face goes blank in response, which makes Quinn smile. Brittany wordlessly holds the harness, and Quinn steps into it, frowning a little at the way the straps feel against her skin. She lets Brittany adjust it, tightening the buckles, and attempts to not to feel incredibly awkward. It sort of reminds her of when she was little and her mother used to dress her, which isn't appropriate _at all,_ and the rest of it comes with the strangeness of looking down and seeing a fake _penis _attached at her groin. Weird. It's definitely weird.

"It's good?" Brittany asks, giving it a little shake. Quinn nods – how is she supposed to know, anyway? – and Brittany practically hops back onto her bed.

"Umm.." Quinn squints a bit at Brittany, who isn't even bothering to crawl back up to the pillows. Instead, she crouches on the bed on all fours, and she flashes a feline grin at Quinn over her shoulder.

"I like it like this," Brittany assures her.

"Brittany," Quinn is blushing at this point. "Don't you want to like – I don't know, _kiss_ or something first?"

"No," Brittany says. "I'm ready now."

"Jesus." Despite herself, Quinn feels her body flash heat in response to Brittany's honest enthusiasm. She feels the blood in her cheeks most of all, but still, she walks up behind Brittany, and strokes a tentative hand between her legs. Brittany shivers, the air shuddering out of her, and Quinn can see how wet Brittany is. Quinn slides a finger in and almost groans at the sensation, but when she pulls it back out, Brittany grapples behind her and latches her hand onto the strap-op, pulling Quinn forward forcibly by her hips.

"_Now_, Quinn," Brittany's voice is low and demanding. "Stop teasing."

Quinn thinks that's a little rich coming from Brittany – but the forceful tone, coupled with the way her hips jerked forward, has Quinn inclined to obey. She uses her hand to guide it in, and Brittany pushes back with a grateful moan. Quinn doesn't hesitate, the way Brittany did, instead slipping it in in one smooth motion. From this angle, Quinn can see the muscles bunch and knot beneath the skin of Brittany's back, and Quinn is captivated by the constellation of freckles spanning the distance from her shoulders to her hips. Quinn grips Brittany low on her hips, almost experimentally, and holds Brittany still as she rocks out and then in again.

Brittany's fingers curl into fists on the bed, and her head is thrown forward, curving her spine. Quinn slides out, and in, and Brittany grunts every time, her body swinging backwards so that when they come together it issues a muffled _clap_ sound. Quinn isn't used to making her body move like this, not _exactly_ like this, anyhow, but she enjoys watching Brittany so entirely – she enjoys having both of her hands free to hold Brittany, and that she's somehow more able to _pay attention_ to Brittany's body. Brittany has her face pressed into the mattress to help soften the sounds coming from her, and Quinn feels a tingle run down her spine every time their bodies jolt together – every time her hips press flush against Brittany's ass, slapping wetly.

Quinn works her hips into a rhythm that becomes familiar, and the longer she does it, the more confident she feels. She leans forward to secure herself with a hand on Brittany's shoulder, which causes Brittany to moan at the change in position. Quinn likes the way it feels being stretched taut over Brittany's back – her breast brush against Brittany's shoulder blades, and her mouth ghosts against the base of Brittany's neck. Brittany slams herself backwards into Quinn, biting on the meat of her palm to keep quiet; Quinn understands, now, why Brittany was so urgent – so ready, because her own body is responding to the sights and sounds of Brittany. She feels her belly tighten and heat coil low in her pelvis, and she knows that the way she's gripping Brittany on the shoulder is going to leave bruises, but she doesn't care; Brittany keeps slamming into her and so she moves harder, faster. It makes her grunt and pant; Brittany moans at the sensation of Quinn's lips so close to her ear.

Quinn senses that Brittany might be close – the way her body is rocking is frantic and heated, and Quinn sees that Brittany's face is scrunched up and glistening. Quinn feels sort of like an animal, because there's something inherently visceral in fucking Brittany into the mattress like this, crouched over her, their naked bodies rubbing and slicking together – but it makes Quinn feel powerful and _sexy_, too, and she grins because, well, she doesn't often feel that way. She doesn't know why, but her left hand comes up to take a fistful of Brittany's hair, pulling it tight, tugging Brittany's head back. Brittany groans, and her whole body shudders when Quinn nips at the skin beneath her ear.

In only a moment, Brittany is crying out, her entire body going taut and rigid; she spasms and shakes, and rams backwards, while Quinn holds her as steady as she can, with her mouth fused to her neck. Quinn doesn't even care that Brittany almost _screamed_, because the feeling she has is the most incredible rush; it's a heady, aroused sensation, and her heart is pounding wildly in her chest from adrenaline.

Brittany is practically sobbing into the mattress, her body loose and limp. Quinn slowly peels away from her, and then scoots up until she can cradle Brittany in her arms. Brittany still gasps, with her eyes screwed shut, when Quinn presses gentle, firm kisses to her lips and cheeks. Quinn murmurs her name over and over again, low and soothing.

Brittany pulls blindly at Quinn, until their bodies are snug together, even with the strap-on still jutting (a little awkwardly) from Quinn's pelvis. Brittany wraps her leg over Quinn's hip and tucks her close, and Quinn can feel the little ways that Brittany trembles and shudders.

"I love you," Quinn whispers against Brittany's forehead, ghosting a kiss there. "You're so beautiful, Britt. I love you."

Brittany hums, her throat working to swallow, and she presses her face into Quinn's neck, her arms squeezing Quinn feebly.

The air in the room is humid and almost stuffy, and Quinn wonders – in the silence that still thunders with her heartbeat – if it was their own bodies that created so much warmth and dampness. She knows her skin feels slick and sticky from sweat, and Brittany's body is practically glowing from the heat.

She thinks that this is the first time she's had sex in her own bedroom since – well.

"Are you all right?" Quinn asks, because it isn't like Brittany to be so quiet or still, even in the aftermath of orgasm. Brittany just nods, pressing a kiss to Quinn's collarbone.

"Let me get this thing off," Quinn murmurs a moment later.

Brittany stirs, and then lifts her head. Her eyes are a little bleary, but she clears them with a few blinks.

"No," Brittany says. "I want to do it again."

"_Again?_ Brittany—"

"I can't believe you topped me like that, Quinn Fabray," Brittany says, and her tone is a little accusing. Quinn's eyebrows shoot up and she bites her lip.

"It was really hot," Brittany concedes with a little tilt of her head. "But I didn't know – I wasn't ready for it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Quinn wonders if she'll ever stop blushing around Brittany.

Brittany narrows her eyes at Quinn for a moment, holding her gaze, until Quinn angles her head away from her.

Brittany just laughs, and in a moment, she's rolling them, until Quinn is flat on her back. She lets out a startled _oomph _at their sudden position change, and Brittany grins down at her. Brittany's hair falls in a halo around their faces, and Quinn's heart slams behind her ribs at the slitted, confident look on Brittany's face. She rolls her hips suggestively against Quinn, and – despite herself – Quinn bites her lip at the sensation of Brittany's sticky wetness leaving a smear low on her abdomen.

"Do you like that?" Brittany's voice is low and challenging. Quinn swallows back the whimper that wants to escape her throat, and instead she reaches for Brittany's face to draw her in for a kiss.

"Oh, no," Brittany stops her, and draws both of her hands above her head. "No. Stay still."

"Brittany," Quinn's belly jumps and tightens. She isn't used to Brittany behaving this way – quite. It isn't that Brittany has never been firm or commanding before, but somehow this is.. different.

Ignoring her, Brittany slides herself up and then, shifting, lowers herself down on along the length of the strap-on. She groans, long and low, and Quinn feels the air strangle in her lungs at the sight of it. In an instant, every part of her is throbbing, and she feels overheated.

Brittany runs a hand through her own hair, throwing it back, and then drags her palm over her breast. Quinn's stomach muscles go rock hard at the sight, and she has to hold her breath to stop herself from whining. Brittany rocks her hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm, and Quinn gets the feeling that this little display is just as much to torture her as it is to please Brittany.

Quinn doesn't know why, but she's battling herself to keep from swearing – she can tell that Brittany is enjoying the clearly pained expression on her face. Brittany rocks and grinds slowly, and the whole time she looks Quinn in the eye. Quinn knows that she's sopping wet, and the way the harness is rubbing against her is maddening, fleeting – she wants to squirm up and down to try to find some kind of friction, but she knows that she can't. It feels like all the blood in her body has relocated between her legs, making it swollen and puffy and sensitive.

Brittany finally reaches down and roughs both of her palms over Quinn's breasts, dragging her fingers over Quinn's nipples. Quinn bucks, then, her spine curving, and she groans at the feeling of Brittany's hips rolling down, into her. Brittany squeezes her breasts and Quinn feels a bolt of heat flash through her, straight down the center of her body. Her fingers are in rigid fists, almost cramping with the effort of keeping her arms above her head, because she just wants to _touch _Brittany – in fact, she wants to flip them over and fuck her silly, and she thinks that that's probably the point of this.

Brittany continues to thumb over Quinn's nipples, and she curls her body down, so that their stomachs graze one another. Quinn can feel the friction between them, and the heat pouring from their bodies like a tangible being; Quinn grunts, and then moans, when Brittany sinks her teeth into Quinn's collarbone. She gives in and slides a hand through Brittany's hair, using it to jerk her head up to fuse their mouths together. Brittany is humming in pleasure, and Quinn can almost feel the triumph pouring off of her in waves, but she doesn't _care_. All she cares about is the hungry kiss between them, and that their bodies are gliding and moving together, and that there's an incessant pressure beating between her legs.

"Mm, Quinn," Brittany's lips are red when she pulls away, and Quinn can't breathe because somehow feeling Brittany's full body rolling into her is _worse_ than just watching it. "Do you want me to come? Do you?"

Quinn almost chokes – because hearing Brittany talk, all breathless but still so in control, makes her want to writhe and arch into her. It drives her crazy. Quinn isn't used to Brittany being so _dirty,_ even though this isn't even close to some of the things Santana would say in passing, as a joke – but it still makes her body feel like it has lava in her veins instead of blood.

"Yes," Quinn whispers. She feels almost dizzy and lightheaded.

Brittany grins, and Quinn thinks she looks even more feline than usual, her front fangs peeking out to bite into her lower lip. She grips around Quinn's wrist, and tugs it hard, lifting up to create the space between their bodies. Quinn gasps, her hips jerking, when her fingertips bump down and then against Brittany's clit. In the next instant, Brittany swallows her lips in a kiss, and Quinn starts to rub while Brittany's hips work against her. It happens so quickly – almost as if Brittany conjured it up using sheer power of will – because only a few moments later, she breaks their kiss in order to gasp and pant against Quinn's neck. Quinn's fingers are soaked and trapped between them, but she doesn't stop rubbing, and Brittany rides out her orgasm with her face buried against Quinn's skin.

Quinn feels like her whole body is absolutely throbbing, and she whimpers, wiggling gently against Brittany. Brittany lets out a breathless little chuckle, and then groans when she slides up and off of Quinn.

Quinn is already reaching for the clasps and buckles to get the strap-on off of her, but Brittany kneels near her pelvis anyway. "Brittany," Quinn whines, impatient, her fingers struggling with the black leather straps.

"I know, baby, I know," Brittany is winded, but she still manages to bat Quinn's hands out of the way. She pulls the harness loose with a tug of her wrist, and a second later Quinn is squirming out of it. She almost hisses at the rush of being completely naked, the flood of cooler air hitting her most sensitive parts and making every sensation sharpen. She grabs for Brittany, but Brittany is already moving to push her flat, and then sliding down the length of her body. Quinn's legs fall apart with shameless abandon, her chest heaving.

She feel's Brittany's breath a moment before she feels her lips, and her hips cant upwards sharply. Brittany grips her to hold her steady, and Quinn is grateful that Brittany doesn't seem insistent on teasing – her tongue comes out an instant later, laving over her clit. Quinn moans, partially in relief, and grips the sheets tightly. Her spine forms an almost perfect arch when Brittany closes her mouth and begins to suck, and it takes almost no time after that.

Quinn feels dizzy – she thinks the room is spinning – and everything feels dim and muted, far away. She barely registers Brittany picking up the discarded comforter off of the floor and then climbing into bed with her, draping it over the both of them. Her body feels oddly airy and weightless, and Quinn thinks – blearily, as if through a fog – that this might be a little bit like having a religious experience.

Except, you know, with orgasms.

Quinn groans, when she finds her voice, and flops her leaden limbs over Brittany. Brittany's skin is sticky with dried sweat, but Quinn is past caring about things like that. Her eyelids are heavy, her mind a pleasant blank.

"I love you, Quinn," Brittany says earnestly, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"Mmhm," Quinn murmurs. They're wrapped together like a pretzel, and she can't manage any kind of coherent thoughts.

Except one.

"Hey, Britt?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you owe me a new set of sheets."

Brittany laughs, squeezing Quinn affectionately.

Quinn's body is sore in the most delicious way possible, and she's so sated she's almost numb.

But her heart hurts, somehow. It stings and throbs; she has to inhale deeply to keep the ache from making her throat swell up.

Quinn is happy, and for the first time in her life since she discovered that she is even _capable _of true happiness, she isn't afraid of losing it or destroying it, somehow, as she has a tendency to do with every beautiful thing in her life.

She feels safe with Brittany, and the love she has for her is overwhelming. It's like flying, or being cast adrift in the open sea, but with no fear of falling or drowning. Quinn practically spills over with it, and in this moment, she thinks it might be a palpable force between them, with a pulse that matches their heartbeats, a thing alive and breathing all on its own.

Even so, Quinn misses Santana.

* * *

**A/N**: Hey, so, sorry for the long wait. You guys have been incredibly patient, and I appreciate it. :)


	14. Chapter 14

Brittany knows that things are going to be different their senior year of high school. She knows that because Quinn won't stop talking about it.

She could have figured it out herself, and she thinks Quinn knows that, too, but Brittany also knows that Quinn sometimes likes to talk – it reassures her, so Brittany listens to Quinn tell her things that she doesn't need to be told.

"It's going to be hard," Quinn says, the first day, while she drives them both to school. Brittany is that combination of sleepy that comes from going to bed too late and waking up too early and excited that happens every year on the first day. She stares out the window and watches as the early risers of Lima walk their dogs and retrieve their newspapers from their lawns. Those people are oblivious to the mild break down Quinn is having, but Brittany sure isn't.

"People are going to be expecting us to be around Santana, and they might ask us about her. Everyone in glee club will talk about it. The whole school will—"

"I don't think they'll notice," Brittany interjects, her voice tired. She lets her eyes stay open too long, so that they glaze over and go distant. "Nobody ever notices when we don't talk to each other, Quinn."

Brittany can hear Quinn swallow, and so she finally blinks and casts her gaze towards the other girl. Quinn grips the steering wheel tightly, and Brittany can see the white in her knuckles. Quinn seems uneasy and jittery, and if Brittany didn't know any better, she would accuse Quinn of drinking a Red Bull before they left for the morning.

"They didn't notice it when I wasn't talking much to you guys, and they didn't notice it when we weren't talking to each other. You don't have to worry," Brittany tries to be reassuring, though she gets a nagging feeling that Quinn isn't really concerned with what everyone else will think. Once Brittany realizes this, it's only a short reach to figure out what Quinn is actually nervous about.

Brittany thinks about Santana a lot. That has been an underlying theme to her whole life, since she first met Santana. Brittany doesn't think she's ever really stopped thinking about Santana this entire time – that somewhere, in the back of her mind, is a running thread that focuses entirely on the girl who composed such an important part of Brittany's past. Maybe that's why she has such a knack for understanding all of the things Santana doesn't say.

Brittany is aware of how much Quinn thinks about Santana, too, even though Quinn takes a lot of painful care in trying not to show it. Quinn thinks that if she lets herself be sad about Santana, it will make Brittany feel bad – or that it will make Brittany miss Santana more than she loves Quinn, something silly like that. Brittany has always known that, out of the three of them, Quinn is the least confident in what she wants – or what she thinks she deserves. It makes Brittany's heart pinch, because she has always only wanted for Quinn to be happy, and she thinks that Quinn won't ever be unless she learns to want it for herself, first.

Brittany wants to talk about it; she wants to tell Quinn that it's okay to say her name, and it's okay to be sad. Being sad about Santana is so familiar to Brittany that she almost doesn't feel it, anymore – except when she does. And when that happens, it's like a tidal wave; swamping up out of nowhere and swallowing her whole.

Quinn doesn't have as many years' experience in this particular Santana sadness to help her cope with it, and it makes Brittany's chest feel bruised and tender, swollen, when she remembers her own early pain and how Quinn must be feeling, now. The difference is, Brittany didn't have someone to help her through it; Brittany just learned how to starve her sadness so that it eventually died. Brittany doesn't want Quinn to stifle or suffocate, like she used to do – so she thinks that they have to talk about Santana, some time. They have to feed the sadness, so that it can grow into something else.

She can tell that Quinn wouldn't want to talk about this right now, though, because she's closed up so tight. Her shoulders are squared and her elbows are tense, and everything about her seems uncomfortable and rigid. Brittany wishes that she could wipe away all of the worry from Quinn with just a touch. Brittany is getting better at it, but – she knows she always does her best communicating with her hands. She has always sort of thought words were hard, or unnecessary, and she likes touching better, anyway.

Quinn isn't like that, Quinn likes to talk. So Brittany feels a little bad that she stopped Quinn from saying things that really weren't important.

"I like your hair," Brittany whispers, because Quinn brushed it out and pinned some of it back on top of her head, and she looks pretty and clean this morning. She wears a white cardigan and a floral print skirt, which is – well, not something Brittany would pick, but it makes her smile anyway. Quinn is still one of the most stunning people she's ever laid eyes on, and Brittany likes to think she has done her share of looking at beautiful things.

"Thank you," Quinn's smile is weak, but it's there. Brittany reaches over and lays her palm on Quinn's thigh, and it makes Quinn relax, if only fractionally.

"It's going to be fine. We're going to have fun." Brittany tells Quinn, and she really does believe it.

"I hope you're right, Britt." Quinn sighs, banks a right into the parking lot, and searches for a spot. Brittany scans the crowd of people forming on the black top, a little bit amused by the baby-faced freshmen who wander around all slack-jawed. She wonders if she ever felt that way, mystified by the newness of McKinley. Brittany supposes she did, at some point, though now this squat, gray building has become as familiar to her as her own house.

Quinn shuffles in the driver seat, running her hands over her clothes and then once over her hair. Brittany watches her flip down the visor and check her makeup in the mirror, skimming the pad of her finger over her lipstick. Brittany smiles, because it's a motion she's seen Quinn do countless times, and it's reassuring, in some way. It makes Brittany feel like there's still an element of normalcy, even when things are anything but normal.

It is kind of a disjointed feeling, to be walking across the blacktop of the parking lot again, after having spent an entire summer away, and this time without Santana by her side. Brittany adjusts the strap of her backpack, squinting against the early light. It's still hot – it's still summer – and part of her just isn't ready to be locked up inside of a classroom again. That's new. Brittany usually can't wait to start the school year.

Starting it without Santana _is_ really strange, but she thinks it bothers her less than it does Quinn. Quinn still has a shadowy, skittish look in her eyes when they step through the doors, as if she's preparing for something awful. Brittany takes Quinn's hand and squeezes it, which brings the ghost of a smile to Quinn's lips. Brittany wants to pull Quinn close and wrap an arm around her, but she suppresses the urge.

It makes her think, though – would Quinn _really_ mind? What if it's what Quinn wants, too? Quinn has always been much more at ease with displays of affection, allowing Brittany to sit in her lap during glee club rehearsals, and leaning into Brittany after Cheerios practice. Quinn never tenses up or glances around anytime Brittany puts a hand on the small of her back, or rubs between her shoulder blades. Quinn has never even _said_ anything about it, now that Brittany thinks on it. Quinn always bonelessly gives over her hand for Brittany to play with, and smiles when Brittany traces the wrinkles in her knuckles or doodles on her palm. There was always a line with Santana – they could do _this much,_ but no more. They could stand _this close,_ but not touch.

Experimentally, Brittany slides an arm around Quinn's waist, and she grins at the easy way Quinn fits against her. Quinn doesn't even glance up, but some of the tension does seem to melt out of her as they continue to walk. Quinn stops with Brittany at her locker, glancing up and down the halls – on the lookout for Santana, probably.

Brittany shifts the dial on her combination lock, but before she gets halfway through it, Santana seems to appear out of nowhere – she stops so abruptly beside her own locker that it makes a jangling _clang_ noise upon impact, and Quinn nearly jumps. Brittany has a second to take in Quinn's startled expression before she turns and faces Santana fully, her gaze skimming Santana's face first and then quickly down her body. Brittany is put off by something – she doesn't quite know what – until Santana gestures impatiently with her arm.

"Look, I know you guys are going all Ice Queen on me right now," Santana's voice is clipped and hard, and her eyes – dark and glittery – won't stay still long enough for Brittany to get a read on them. "But this is important. Coach Sue says we can have our old spots back on the team – she's even making me captain. Sorry, Q," Santana glances briefly towards Quinn, and finally folds her arms under her chest, angling her head away from them, towards the rush of students in the hallway.

Brittany realizes what threw her off about Santana initially is the fact that Santana is wearing her Cheerios uniform. Of course. Brittany is so used to seeing Santana in it that it didn't strike her as immediately alarming – but Brittany remembers quitting the Cheerios last year, and she and Quinn came to school today in regular clothes. The thought of the cheerleading squad hadn't crossed Brittany's mind in months.. probably because it was _her_ fault that they quit in the first place. Brittany still gets a knot of anxiety between her shoulder blades when she remembers how much contention and stress there was between Quinn and Santana on account of her.

Brittany remains silent at first, waiting for Quinn to respond, though everything about Santana's body language makes it obvious she's waiting for Brittany to say something. Brittany doesn't know what to say; mostly she's drinking in the sight of Santana, and trying to see what has changed in the weeks they've spent apart. Brittany wonders if they have ever gone so long with no contact between them, and she can't think of any other time. She wants to touch Santana. Her fingertips practically vibrate with the wanting of it.

Quinn sighs, shifts, and slides next to Brittany. Brittany glances down at her, and she can read the way Quinn is struggling with her own set of desires – it looks like she wants to pull Santana close, too. Brittany is glad Quinn feels this way, even though it hurts. She thinks it means something, something important, though she isn't sure what.

"Thanks, Santana." Quinn presses gently on the small of Brittany's back, and it makes Brittany turn back towards her locker. She fiddles with the lock, and somehow that causes it to drop open. Brittany opens it, and blinks at how blank it is. She always forgets that she has to put her pictures back up on the first day.

"That's it?" Santana's tone is immediately sharp and accusing, which makes Brittany's eyes widen with concern. She pauses in the process of unzipping her backpack to give Santana a look from beneath her eyelids. "I can't believe you two – you care more about punishing me than being on the Cheerios?" Santana's brow wrinkles in fury and confusion.

"This isn't about that, Santana," Quinn says quietly. Her voice drops, as if to immediately counteract the way Santana's gets louder and more aggressive. "We haven't talked about the Cheerios yet."

"What is there to talk about? I'm telling you, Coach will let you back on. It's a done deal."

Quinn turns to Brittany, and Brittany looks at her, watching her face. Quinn pinches her bottom lip between her teeth, her eyes flitting back and forth between Brittany's.

"I don't know," Brittany answers.

Santana's face transforms into one of abject shock – though this is the first time Brittany has spoken since Santana showed up.

"What don't you know about, Britt?" Santana's voice is strangely quiet and almost gentle, and it makes Brittany's lungs contract.

"I have to think about it." Brittany says slowly. She is a naturally quiet person, but in situations like these her volume drops even more – she knows that it always makes Santana feel small whenever she sounds like this, but she can't help it. "We left the Cheerios for a reason."

Santana tugs her lips into her mouth, and Brittany can tell that she's thinking.

"Listen," Santana looks towards Quinn, now, with more of an intention of actually _seeing_ her than before. Brittany turns, because she wants to watch the way that they look at each other – she wants better to see what might happen. "Have you both thought about what –_ this_ –" she indicates between the both of them with a quick nod, "Is going to do to you, here? It will be a nightmare."

Quinn clears her voice quickly, "Santana—"

"But it will be better for you if you're on the Cheerios," Santana says in a rush. She seems earnest and almost pleading. Brittany watches the way her throat works on a swallow. "I can – uh. It can protect you from a lot of it."

Quinn is frowning hard, and her eyes are glued to Santana's. Brittany feels like it might be getting difficult to breathe, but only because the force of Quinn's gaze is a palpable thing. Santana's eyes keep sliding away from Quinn's, and her body moves in tiny, nervous ways; but she hasn't turned away yet, and Brittany thinks that that must mean something, too.

"We'll talk about it, Santana." Quinn's words tumble out like she has much more to say, but can't find a way to say it. Brittany understands that, because it's how she feels most of the time.

"Don't take too long." Santana lets out a breath. "She won't be patient about it."

"Okay." Quinn doesn't look away from Santana, and for a long moment they study each other. Brittany feels like a cord stretched tight between them, and even though it's uncomfortable, part of her relishes it; it's an old, familiar feeling.

Finally, Santana turns back to Brittany, and offers her a small, delicate smile. Brittany feels something inside of her snap quietly – like a damp twig beneath the sole of a shoe – and her own smile is fleeting, tremulous. "I miss you, Santana." Brittany says, and she watches the corners of Santana's eyes widen. "We both do."

Santana swallows, shakes her head. "I miss you, too, Britt." She doesn't say anything, but the way she looks at Quinn carries the message over.

Quinn surprises Brittany by reaching out, spanning the distance between their bodies, and pressing her fingertips to Santana's forearm. It's a tiny thing, really – a small gesture – but Santana's face contorts with pain and confusion, and she stares at it before she looks at Quinn in question.

Brittany gets the sense that Quinn has things to say that she won't or can't, but the silence between them only serves to make Santana more bewildered.

"You're going to be late," Santana says, awkwardly.

Quinn sighs again, and drops her hand. She glances up at Brittany, then leans up to press a kiss to her cheek. "I'll see you in homeroom, Britt."

Brittany smiles, lets her hand squeeze Quinn's forearm. She turns to press a kiss to Quinn's cheek, too, and is rewarded with Quinn's brief smile. Quinn glances once more at Santana, her face blanking, before she heads to her own locker.

Alone, Santana shifts, scuffing her foot along the linoleum. "How was the rest of your summer?"

Brittany continues unloading her backpack, shaking her head. "All we have to do is talk about this, Santana, and we can figure it out. It doesn't have to be this way."

Santana bites her lip. "I don't know what there is to talk about."

Brittany looks at her, pressing her lips together. "You're in love with us, Santana."

Santana flinches and she pulls her arms across her chest again.

"It doesn't have to be so hard." Brittany says it dully, because it makes her sad to see Santana so raw and hurting, but it also makes her tired – she's reminded of how very _tiring_ Santana's denial can be, how much it makes her heart ache, especially after weeks of easy, open affection with Quinn.

"Why can't things just – stay the same as they were?"

Brittany closes her locker door, maybe a little abruptly. "It isn't good enough anymore."

Santana's face darkens. "She did this to you – she put this in your head."

Brittany narrows her eyes. "I don't need anyone to put anything in my head, Santana. Quinn and I feel the same way."

Santana's anger is growing, and Brittany can tell by the way her fists clench. "You never wanted to change things before she—"

"Yes, I did," Brittany says, and she tries not to let herself be annoyed. "I've always wanted to change things, Santana. I've even tried, a few times. Quinn just did what I never could do."

Santana frowns. "We only have one more year here, Britt. Just one more year. Why does it have to change _now?"_

_Because another year feels like forever_, Brittany wants to say. _Because I've been waiting for you my whole life, and one more year might kill me_. She doesn't, though. Instead, she pulls Santana close, and squeezes her in a quick hug. "I have to go," Brittany murmurs, peeling away.

She can feel Santana watching her as she goes, but she doesn't look back.

* * *

Quinn tells Brittany that it's her choice, and Brittany doesn't know what to do with it.

Brittany might be more manipulative than most people realize, but she still isn't assertive – she isn't really a decision maker, at least not when it comes to things like this. Brittany is good at making choices for herself, mostly; but she never really tries to do it for other people.

Brittany spends the next few days thinking about Quinn and the Cheerios, and the way that Quinn used to be so fierce and proud as the captain, and how watching her zip into her polyester uniform used to make Brittany's stomach do somersaults long before she had ever gotten the chance to see Quinn naked, or taste her skin, or memorize her hips.

She thinks that she almost wants to join again, if only because the Cheerios were an important part of Quinn's identity, before. Brittany wants Quinn to be happy, and sometimes just the wanting of it is taxing for Brittany. Quinn's haunting sadness makes Brittany feel heavy and listless, sometimes, and one of the main differences between Quinn and Santana is the fact that Santana is good at distraction – good at deflection. Santana has a talent of misdirecting, and when Brittany was fed up with Santana's own brand of melancholy, she allowed Santana to play her games and give her heart a rest. It isn't the same with Quinn, who is, at least, emotionally honest; she may not surrender information about the things that bother her, but she doesn't try to cover them up, either.

That thought, though, makes Brittany wonder if Cheerios really _would_ make Quinn happy after all. Brittany spends hours lying in bed with Quinn, running her fingers through the short length of Quinn's hair, and tries to remember if Quinn was ever happy, really. She thinks back on their freshman year, remembers how bubbly and cheerful Quinn was – before she joined the Cheerios. Brittany recalls the way Coach Sylvester used to pressure and antagonize Quinn, and how Sue's casual insults could dig at someone even as thick-skinned as Santana.

"I think we shouldn't," Brittany murmurs into the fading half-light. Quinn stirs, drowsy, and shifts, but Brittany pulls her tight. Quinn's arm and leg are thrown over Brittany's torso and her head rests on Brittany's shoulder. "I think that we did quit the Cheerios for a reason."

"Yeah," Quinn's voice is scratchy and it cracks. "Because Coach is a lunatic. But Brittany – you love the Cheerios. You love cheerleading."

Brittany purses her lips, studying the ceiling, looking at the same old water spot that's always been there. "I do think cheerleading is fun. But being on the Cheerios isn't always."

Quinn smiles sleepily, and shifts until she can press a kiss to Brittany's collarbone. "You're right."

"You aren't mad?" Brittany doesn't stop the long, languid strokes her fingers take, gliding through Quinn's hair.

"No," Quinn lets out a breath. "I'm kind of relieved, actually."

Brittany smiles, just a little sadly, at the revelation. "You didn't want back on the squad?"

Quinn takes a moment to respond, and Brittany finds herself counting each of Quinn's whispery breaths.

"No, not really." Quinn rubs her palm down the length of Brittany's abdomen. "I don't think that's really me anymore. I want to do more important things with my senior year than suffer verbal abuse from a psychopath."

Brittany hums. "We could get scholarships, though, if they win again." She stretches, grunting in relief at the way her muscles expand.

"Oh." Quinn peeks her head up and blinks at Brittany. "Do you need the scholarship, Britt? If you do, we can join it."

Brittany shakes her head. "I'm probably not going to go to college, Quinn."

Quinn frowns. "Why? How can you say that?"

Brittany shrugs. "I'm tired of school. I want to spend a few years doing other stuff. Fun stuff."

"Britt, college is important." Quinn's expression is troubled now.

Brittany closes her eyes. "Living is more important."

Quinn lifts herself up and then slides over Brittany, straddling her waist. Brittany squints up at Quinn, tilting her head.

"I'll make you a deal," Quinn says, scratching her nails low on Brittany's pelvis. Brittany knows Quinn is doing it because it makes her arch and squirm – so she tries to repress it, but her body still shivers. "If you agree to at least _try_ college, I'll go on a road trip with you this summer. You can pick all of the places we'll go. I'll get my dad to pay for it."

Brittany's eyes go wide. "I really want to go to Graceland."

"Wh-what? Graceland? Why?"

Brittany looks at Quinn very seriously. "Elvis Presley is the king of rock n' roll."

Quinn just laughs.

"I want to see the Space Needle, and the Grand Canyon, and the world's largest ball of multi-colored Play-Doh," Brittany says.

"Hmm," Quinn grins down at Brittany.

"Oh, and I want to go to Yellowstone and meet Yogi and Booboo."

"Okay, Britt. We can do all of those things."

"I'll pack a picnic basket for them."

Quinn shakes her head, still smiling, and runs her hands up the span of Brittany's ribcage. "They'll appreciate that."

"We can't let any park rangers catch us—" Brittany's words are stuttered and breathy, and she finally gives into a moan when Quinn drags her nails back down the length of her sides. Brittany's hips undulate upwards, and her eyes flutter shut.

"We'll be sneaky," Quinn murmurs, the moment before she nips at Brittany's neck.

"Mm," Brittany agrees, before her own hands dive beneath Quinn's shirt.

* * *

Brittany never went around holding a sign that says "I'm in love with Quinn Fabray," but still, somehow, everyone knows it.

She isn't sure what made it obvious to everyone – she isn't sure, exactly, how their behavior changed from last year to this, that they would be drawing all of the looks and whispers that they do now.

Quinn is convinced that Santana let it slip to someone, maybe Tina, who spread the gossip. Brittany isn't so sure – but she does think Santana has something to do with it.

The school at large never noticed when the dynamic between the three of them shifted, but one thing most people were always peripherally aware of was the way that Santana was always associating with one blonde or another – most typically Brittany, but for a time, Quinn, and then all of them together. The student body assumed that they did things as a unit, more or less. Santana's position on the Cheerios is obvious, and the space between her and the other two girls is amplified by it.

People aren't used to Brittany and Quinn spending time together exclusively, without Santana. Brittany thinks that this is what made it so apparent to everyone.

"We don't have to tell them we're together," Brittany tells Quinn one afternoon, because some girl in Quinn's honors Physics class accused her of being a dyke. "We can say whatever we want."

"I don't want to lie about it," Quinn's voice quavers a little, and her expression is unsure. "I don't want to go around.. _announcing _it, but I don't want to lie." She runs a finger down the length of Brittany's hand. "If they ask me, I'll tell them. I'm not ashamed."

Brittany doesn't know how to describe this emotion: but it buzzes from her solar plexus outwards, a hot spiral that makes her feel like she's a kite catching an upward draft – like a soaring bird, impossible and magical. She goes lightheaded and weak, but in the best possible way; in a way that makes her feel like her entire body is composed of light and air, and of nothing else except loving Quinn.

But even more than that – of being loved _by _Quinn.

It's overwhelming, and she smiles a smile that she knows is too big on her face, because it makes her cheeks hurt, but she doesn't care. She holds Quinn close, pressing their bodies together, and Quinn submits silently to the way Brittany nuzzles into her hair.

"I love you," Brittany manages, and she feels Quinn shuffle, struggle to return the hug. It makes Brittany squeeze tighter – not because she doesn't want Quinn to hold her, but because she wants this for Quinn. She wants Quinn to be held entirely, without having to offer anything back.

"Me, too," Quinn whispers, and finally settles for pressing a small kiss to Brittany's neck.

"I'll tell them, too. I was never afraid to."

Quinn pauses, nodding. "I know. It just took me a while to be as brave as you."

"You're brave, Quinn." Brittany doesn't know if the hug is uncomfortable yet, but she can feel her arms getting tighter. "The bravest one of all of us."

Quinn's laugh is short. "I don't know."

"You _are_," Brittany insists. "I was never afraid to begin with, so there is nothing to be brave about. But you were – you were afraid, but you still did it. That's being brave."

Quinn seems to accept this for a moment, because she's silent, but then she sighs. "And Santana has always been the most afraid and the least brave."

"Yes," Brittany says.

"It makes me feel bad," Quinn's voice is small. "If she was really scared, then—"

"We did the right thing," Brittany is sure of that. "We can't give everything up for her, if she won't give us even one little thing."

"I know," Quinn sounds tired, now. "You're right. I know you're right."

"Most of the time," Brittany draws back, now, and smiles gently at Quinn. "I think that one day Santana will stop being scared, or at least find a little bravery."

"One day." Quinn cocks her head. "But if she doesn't – if she never finds the courage, then what?"

Brittany thinks for a moment while looking at Quinn's marbled eyes. "I think sometimes the best dreams are better left as dreams, because when you wake up, you hurt. You miss the dream. You miss the stories and the adventures and the magic. But real life has those things, too – real life has all of them, it's just harder to find sometimes. When people try too hard to make the dream into their reality, they miss out on all of the wonderful stuff in their lives."

Quinn is trying to absorb this from Brittany with a perplexed look.

Brittany finishes for her: "But you don't regret dreaming, do you? I don't."

"So you're saying that.. we should hope she will, but plan that she won't?" Quinn's eyebrows are furrowed.

"I'm saying that Santana is a beautiful dream, Quinn, and her being with us like we are now would be perfect. But I'm not going to spend my life trying to make that dream happen – because then I'd miss out on every good thing I have with you, and with Lord Tubbington, and my sisters and my friends."

Quinn chews on her bottom lip for a moment. "You're a very smart girl, Brittany Pierce."

Brittany laughs. "I have been told that once or twice."

"Glad to hear it's not going to your head," Quinn chuckles.

Brittany's expression is suddenly solemn. "Quinn, being smart doesn't mean you have a big head. Everyone knows that. Finn has a huge head and he's really dumb."

Quinn is grinning from ear to ear when she pulls Brittany's face close for a kiss.

* * *

The first few weeks of school are full of uncertainty for Brittany, and she begins to understand why Quinn was so anxious to begin with.

Seeing Santana every day, but not touching or talking to her, has been one of the worst things Brittany has ever experienced. She thought it was bad before, when she was with Artie – but Santana still remained her friend through that. Santana and Brittany could put on the charade of being just friends, even when Santana was jealous and upset over Artie, and Brittany's heart ached for Santana. It isn't like that now. Santana is nothing but a wall of silence, and Brittany is lucky if she can get Santana to make eye contact with her at any point.

During the summer, she missed Santana, but she didn't have to see her. It was better then. Now she misses Santana even worse – and missing someone when you can hear their voice and see their face and watch them laughing with other people is something like torture. It has the same effect on Quinn, too. Quinn always tenses when she hears Santana's voice in the hallway, or when Santana's laugh carries across a room. Brittany does her best to hold Quinn and stroke a soothing hand down Quinn's arm, but it isn't enough. It isn't Santana, and they both want her.

Beyond that – the fact that Santana is _everywhere_ but still frustratingly out of reach – the rest of the students treat them a little differently. Even their friends in glee club, which surprises Brittany. She isn't used to them noticing anything unless it is directly expressed – after all, most of them play the lead role in the drama of their own lives. The only time they pay attention to anything else is when something huge happens; and then, it's mostly all about Rachel. Brittany doesn't mind that. She loves them all in different ways and for different reasons, and sometimes it's because most of them are so wonderfully self-absorbed.

Tina is the first one to mention it. Brittany sits next to Quinn at lunch, watching the way Quinn delicately eats the salad in front of her, and being a little amazed that Quinn seems happy and satisfied with it – Brittany has tried and tried to feed Quinn French fries, but Quinn keeps refusing them – while she stirs the gravy into her mashed potatoes. The table is quiet today because the boys have something for football, so it's just Brittany, Quinn, Tina, Rachel, Mercedes, Kurt, and Blaine.

Santana is sitting with the Cheerios.

"Why are you guys mad at Santana?" Tina asks, out of nowhere.

Brittany is immediately aware of how Quinn pauses, her wrist tensing, before she continues to eat her salad. She doesn't look up at Tina.

The entire group has stopped talking and Brittany feels their eyes on her. Slowly, her eyebrows raise, and she glances from one curious face to the next – Rachel, who stopped mid-sentence in some argument with Kurt. Blaine, who had been texting, glances up to look at her. Mercedes chews her lunch slowly, and somehow her expression is both smug and knowing – Brittany wonders what exactly Mercedes is thinking.

"We aren't mad," Brittany says, because the silence had gotten uncomfortable. "Santana wants to sit with the Cheerios."

Tina and Mercedes exchange a glance, and then Tina shakes her head. "There's something else."

"And you two have been awfully—" Rachel starts, but Kurt elbows her hard. She stifles a yelp, turning to glare at him.

Quinn glances up at that. Until now, she had remained composed and silent, almost ignoring them. The way Quinn looks between Kurt and Rachel is cold and assessing, and it makes Brittany's diaphragm feel dense and heavy. Brittany follows Quinn's gaze, and the way Tina and Mercedes exchange glances is almost guilty.

"Okay," Quinn says, setting her fork down. "Ask the question."

"Quinn –" Blaine says, on the other side of her, "We don't want to push you to do something you aren't comfortable with –"

Quinn doesn't look at him, or change her expression. "Ask the question."

Kurt's cheeks are pinking, and now Tina won't look at either of them in the eye. It's quiet and unnerving. Mercedes looks a little bit ashamed – she keeps her gaze trained on the far wall. Only Rachel will look at Brittany, and she seems to feel more curious than awkward.

"Are you girls – are you in a relationship?" Rachel finally asks.

Quinn looks at her for a long moment, and it's the old Quinn Fabray look; the one she used to give Rachel when Rachel was a person she hated. Rachel doesn't flinch, though, and after a moment Quinn slowly nods her head.

"Oh." Rachel doesn't seem to know how to take the news, even though she asked for it. She picks up her fork and pushes her food around on her tray.

"Well.. we're really happy for you guys," Blaine says, trying to smile. Quinn still doesn't look at him.

Tina looks between them quickly. "I never knew you were –"

Quinn raises an eyebrow.

"I mean, I _knew_ about Brittany, and I knew about Santana, but not you." Tina finishes.

Brittany can hear the blood roar in her ears at the mention of Santana's name.

"Is that why she isn't over here?" Tina is oblivious to the way Brittany's body is hot and loose, and how Brittany can practically feel her heart knocking against her ribcage. "Is she jealous?"

"No." Quinn's voice is low and almost threatening. "We didn't join the Cheerios with her, so she is a little irritated with us."

Tina doesn't look convinced. She keeps trying to catch Brittany's line of sight, but Brittany ignores her.

"This isn't our business," Kurt says, clearly uncomfortable. "Leave it alone, Tina."

"Yeah, girl, just mind your own," Mercedes says.

It takes a few more tense moments, but everyone starts eating again.

"It's kinda funny, isn't it?" Rachel muses, smiling a secret smile into her salad. "How everyone in this club is-? Just a little, at least," She can't help but grin.

"Not _everyone,_" Kurt says, rolling his eyes. "Not Finn."

Quinn almost snorts. "Ask Finn about his middle school sleepovers with Puck."

Rachel and Kurt have twin expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces, and it only takes a fraction of a second before Tina and Mercedes explode with laughter.

Brittany grins, chuckling, and the wide smile on Quinn's face is lovely and beautiful. Brittany kisses her, catching the corner of her lips, and Brittany is surprised to find that Quinn isn't tense at all. She almost vibrates, and the way her eyes glow makes Brittany think that – well, that Quinn is happy, right now. Quinn is actually happy, laughing with their friends. And these kids - they _are_ their friends. They're family.

Blaine takes a sip of water and says something too low for Brittany to hear.

"Not _Sam,_" Mercedes shakes her head, her face incredulous. "Definitely not."

"I know what I know," Blaine insists.

Rachel is still sputtering, her eyes wide, and Kurt just nods in mute agreement with Blaine.

"I can personally vouch for Mike," Tina says, holding a hand up. "He's at least a little twisty."

"I can't _believe_ this," Mercedes huffs. "Y'all are crazy."

Rachel, a bit recovered, gives Mercedes a sidelong look. "Don't pretend that your sexuality is set in stone, either, Mercedes. It's.. normal."

Mercedes rolls her eyes. "I don't see you standing in line to declare your gayness, Berry,"

Rachel looks a little offended. "I'm open to the idea of attraction to a woman."

Tina, Mercedes, and Kurt stare at her.

Even Quinn raises a brow.

"What?" Rachel glances between them. "Is it that weird? I have gay dads!"

"But you're so boy crazy," Mercedes's tone is derisive.

"And you never told me that," Kurt's voice is almost squeaky.

"C'mon, guys," Blaine tries to hide his smile.

"It doesn't surprise me," Brittany says with a shrug.

"Of course it doesn't," Mercedes gives Brittany a look. "You think everyone is attracted to you."

"That's because they _are,_" Brittany smirks.

"I'm not boy crazy." Rachel frowns.

Tina narrows her eyes. "I think you're just saying that to fit in. Have you ever actually been attracted to a woman?"

"N-not recently," Rachel's face darkens. "But that isn't the point!"

Quinn seems rather amused with the entire conversation. She takes a drink, smiling faintly, watching the way they squabble.

Brittany grins. "We can settle it, Rachel. Let's make out."

"_What?"_ Rachel almost chokes.

Quinn shrugs. "Brittany _is _a good kisser."

"Yeah, she is," Tina agrees, earning looks from Mercedes and Kurt.

"If you don't want to make out with me, then you're pretty weird," Brittany says, her tone matter-of-fact. "Besides, I've had you on my list for, like, three years now."

"_I_ didn't want to make out with you!" Mercedes fumes. "You came out of nowhere!"

"You're weird," Brittany nods.

"Don't listen to her, Rachel," Mercedes scowls. "If you don't want to do it, then don't." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "At least she's _asking_ you!"

"I apologized for that," Brittany looks at Mercedes steadily. "I should have asked."

"Oh, jeeze. It's fine, Brittany. It's fine. Let's stop talking about it." Mercedes shakes her head.

"Do we have to do it _here?"_ Rachel squeaks. She looks around the crowded lunchroom, and her eyes snag and catch on Santana. Santana is too far away to hear anything going on, but Brittany can practically see Rachel working out the scenario in her head. "We can't do it here."

Brittany just laughs. "Whatever you want."

Rachel looks timorously back to them, and then at Quinn. "And if you're not comfortable with this—"

Quinn chuckles, shaking her head. "I'd pay to see it."

"Fine," Rachel snaps. "Fine. After school or something."

Brittany hugs Quinn around the waist, laughing into her hair.

* * *

Brittany feels different now that it isn't a secret with the glee club kids anymore. Finn, Puck, Mike, and Sam – who missed the conversation over the lunch table – look at them with wide, scandalized eyes for a few days, but eventually the interest and curiosity subsides. Mr. Schuester blinks, a little startled, the first time Rachel rages at Quinn over something her _girlfriend_ did – Brittany had said something like, "Since Rachel spends so much time making out with Finn, you think she'd be better at it," to Sam (Quinn's response was, "Finn isn't good at it either," to which Brittany replied: "I know," and the entire glee club stopped to look at Finn) – but he never brings it up again, and smiles warmly at them when they hold hands during Spanish.

It feels easy. Her friends know, and it isn't a secret, and Quinn doesn't care if people are watching when Brittany kisses her. It makes her feel grateful and joyous, even though Santana steadfastly ignores them. She is quiet and withdrawn in glee, sitting in the back row with her arms crossed, glaring at the room. Brittany still wants Santana – she still wants to gather Santana up and hold her, and feel the way she breathes and moves – but she is happier, now, than she has ever been.

Quinn gets far more attention from other kids than Brittany does, and Brittany doesn't understand why. "Because everyone _knows_ you like girls," Tina tells Brittany, rolling her eyes, when Brittany brings it up during their English class. "But it's big news about Quinn."

"Why does it matter?"

Tina shrugs, her eyes trained on Brittany's essay in front of her. "Because people are stupid. Especially kids in high school." Tina looks up from the paper. "You need to re-write this, and don't use glitter pens."

Brittany frowns. "Mrs. Vickers likes when I use colors."

Tina sighs. "Just type it up instead. Use black ink."

Brittany thinks that she won't ask Tina important questions in the future, because Tina doesn't know anything. She stuffs her essay into her backpack right as the bell rings, and drifts into the hallway, scanning for Quinn. Quinn smiles when their eyes meet, and Brittany tucks Quinn's arm into her elbow. "Do you have homework tonight? I want to go to the park."

Quinn nods. "I actually need to study for my physics test tomorrow. I was going to say that you can take my car home if you want, because I have to stick around school for a while."

Brittany feels herself pouting. "Stupid physics."

"I'll call you when I want you to come get me?" Quinn says, biting back a smile.

Brittany shakes her head. "I'll stay with you. Maybe listening to you study will make it easier for me to listen to Mr. Mulligan in chemistry."

Quinn laughs. "We can sit on the bleachers if you want? At least we'll be outside."

"Good plan."

Brittany isn't happy about having to spend a Thursday afternoon staring at the football field, but she tries to make the most of it. The day is bright and crisp, and not too windy, so Quinn spreads out with her books and pencils and pens, propping herself up with a jacket and her backpack. Brittany sits next to her and tries not to distract her very much – she's tempted, though, by the way Quinn develops a wrinkle between her tawny eyebrows while she reads, and the furious way she takes notes. It makes Brittany want to tug at the ends of her hair, trail a fingertip along the outline of her collarbone, kiss a trail down her hips. Brittany doesn't know _why_ watching Quinn like this does that to her, it just does. But she refrains, because Quinn has already spent countless hours complaining about this physics class, and Brittany knows that she's stressed about her grade.

Eventually, Brittany lets her gaze drift out to the field, where Coach Beiste is making the football players run drills. She squints, easily picking Finn out of the group – he's the tallest – and she spends time trying to locate Puck, Mike, and Sam. Sam is next, because his shaggy blonde hair keeps falling into his eyes. Mike and Puck are harder – they're both about average height and build, and they blend in with all of the other boys. Mike is more slender, though, and she finds him eventually; finally, she recognizes Puck, only because of his butt in spandex.

She watches them play a short game, but she loses interest. Brittany has spent more time staring at football players than she cares to think about. They never do anything exciting.

Just then, the Cheerios spill out of the side of the building, jogging onto the field. Brittany tilts her head, using her hand to shade her eyes, and it takes her no time to zero in on Santana.

She makes the girls do laps. Sue stands next to her, along with Becky Jackson, and Brittany can tell that Santana is pissed off about something. She keeps gesturing wildly at the troupe of girls and is clearly shouting, though Brittany can't exactly hear her. Brittany is suddenly nostalgic for her days on the Cheerios with Santana.

Beside her, Quinn glances up, and lays her head on Brittany's shoulder. "Do you want to leave?"

"No, it's okay," Brittany says. She looks down at Quinn, who seems tired. "Do you need me to pop your back?"

Quinn groans, but smiles through it. "Yeah, can you?" She sets her books down and stretches, causing a series of pops and clicks.

"You always hunch over when you're reading." Brittany climbs to her feet, shaking out the stiffness in her arms and legs. Quinn reaches for Brittany's hand, and Brittany pulls her upright.

Quinn grabs her own elbows, facing away from Brittany, and Brittany hugs her from behind, placing her arms over Quinn's. In one movement, she pulls backwards, lifting Quinn upwards. She shakes Quinn gently once, twice, and then places her back on her feet. Quinn rolls her neck, rubbing at the base of it, and gives Brittany a smile. "Thanks."

"Hey! Why don't you kiss for us?"

Brittany turns, sharply, at the same instant Quinn's face transforms into a frown. The football players are fanning out, away from Coach Beiste, and three of them took the path up the bleachers. Brittany doesn't really recognize them, which means they must be freshmen or sophomores. They hold their helmets in their hands and have red, sweaty faces.

"Get lost." Brittany is dismissive. She turns back around.

"Are those the dykes you were telling me about?"

"They don't look like dykes."

Brittany wants to ignore them, but she can tell Quinn is becoming furious. She puts both of her palms on Quinn's elbows, trying to draw her back in, but Quinn won't stop glaring at them. Brittany can hear them laughing at each other, now, and they keep getting closer.

"Let's go," Brittany breathes. She doesn't want Quinn to get angry with them, and do or say something she will regret. Quinn cares about her grades and her record, she cares about getting into college. Brittany doesn't want her fighting with anyone.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" The first one sounds like he's right behind her. "Or can't you hear me if I don't have a pussy?"

Quinn makes a face. Brittany just rolls her eyes.

"Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?"

_That_ voice explodes out of nowhere, and it makes Brittany whip around again. Santana is stomping up the stairs, and Brittany's eyes widen at the look of pure fury on her face.

"My _grandma _could come up with better insults. You're a fucking idiot. Get the hell out of here before I forcibly remove your testicles." Santana sneers at the three of them, and Brittany is a little impressed by the fact that she isn't even winded. "That's assuming you even have any."

"What a bitch," one of the guys mutters. "Are you gay, too?"

"Too damn fine to be gay," the second one says, and smiles suggestively at Santana. "Can I get your number?"

Brittany doesn't move fast enough, but she does try. Santana launches herself at him, and by the time Brittany pulls her away, his cheek is bleeding from where her nail caught his skin. He yelps, grabbing it, and Brittany can see that he'll have a bruise on his cheekbone tomorrow.

"Get out of here," Quinn says, her voice low. "This is sexual assault. You could all be suspended for this."

"That crazy bitch _attacked_ me!"

Santana is screaming at him in broken Spanish, and Brittany grunts, trying to hold her in place. Santana is small and wiry, but she's _strong,_ and Brittany has a hard time keeping ahold of her. "Easy," Brittany murmurs. She can't see anything over Santana's wild hair.

Santana suddenly stops struggling and gasps, which makes Brittany peer over her head. The first boy, the one Santana already hit, is clutching his face with the most wounded expression.

"Jesus," the third boy says, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Let's just go."

"Did Quinn _slap_ him?" Brittany whispers. Santana nods, mutely.

Brittany watches the young football players hurry down the stairs, and then slowly releases Santana.

"I'm pretty sure you bruised my tits," Santana says, annoyed. She uses her palm to flatten her hair down.

Brittany shrugs. "You're too little to fight men."

"He would have been _crying_ when I was done with him," Santana snorts, crossing her arms. "He isn't a man, he's a little boy."

Brittany thinks that, in situations like this, Santana has the element of surprise. Most people don't expect a tiny brunette cheerleader to come out of nowhere, slapping and punching. Santana has been lucky so far that no one has ever really reacted with anything other than shock. Brittany is always worried that Santana will hit the wrong person, and will come out worse for it.

"And what were you two _thinking?"_ Santana spits, swinging around to glare at them. "Sitting up here all by yourselves? Hugging each other? What's the matter with you?"

"Santana –" Brittany tries, but Santana shakes her head.

"No! You're both so _stupid!"_

"It's none of your business!" Quinn explodes, causing Santana to draw back. "We didn't ask for your help, Santana!"

"I don't _care!_" Santana is furious, and Brittany can tell. Her fists clench near her hips.

Brittany feels adrenaline pumping through her body, and also anxiety; it curdles, like a tumor, between her shoulder blades and low in her stomach. She watches them, her heart racing, and – like always – she feels something like a bungee cord pulled tight, and worn thin. She feels stretched and twisted, and she just wants both of them to _calm down._

"I'm not going to just _stand_ there and let some jock harass you!" Santana is almost screaming. "But you should know better, Quinn!"

"We were fine without you." Quinn sets her jaw, eyes flashing. "We don't need you to protect us."

Santana closes up without actually moving, and her silence is heavy.

"We _want_ you with us, Santana," Brittany says, because watching Santana like that has always made her chest ache. Brittany hears a high, keening ring in her ears when Santana slowly turns to look at her.

"Could have fooled me, Britt," Santana's tone is nasty and brusque. Brittany isn't used to Santana talking to her like that. "You act like you don't even remember who I am."

"You ignore us," Quinn's tone is accusing. She moves imperceptibly towards Brittany, as if trying to draw Brittany close; but Brittany remains still, stunned, between them. "You never talk to us."

"What's the point?" Santana's eyes narrow. "Neither one of you can see how this would ruin my life, can you? But you don't care, Quinn." Santana shifts, aiming her hips and shoulders in Quinn's direction. "You only care about yourself, and your stupid ego. You're so concerned with who's fucking me, besides you?" Santana shakes her head. "If you really loved me, you wouldn't want to put me through this. _Either_ of us." Santana nods towards Brittany.

Quinn stares for just a moment at Santana, and Brittany is afraid of what is going to happen. Truth be told – she has no idea. Brittany is good at reading the signals these two throw, both at her and at each other, but right now Quinn is such a confusing mixture that Brittany can't keep up. She's obviously furious – the way her jaw clenches behind her teeth is proof of that – but her eyes are somehow calm. She studies Santana's face, and the heat of her anger is replaced by something steady, something quiet.

It unnerves Brittany.

She prefers Quinn to be screaming and yelling – she _knows_ that Quinn.

"Do you want to really talk about which one of us has hurt the others the most?" Quinn's voice, already naturally low, is now bordering on dangerous. Brittany swallows.

"Are you keeping count?" Santana huffs, brow raised. "Pretty pathetic, Fabray."

"No, but do you know what _is _pathetic, Santana?" Quinn's voice reminds Brittany of the way a blade glints in the sunlight. "What's pathetic is going through the effort to give a girl mono, in order to set her up as a cheater and steal her boyfriend. What's pathetic about that is that you didn't even _want_ Sam as a boyfriend. You just wanted to punish me. You just wanted to _hurt_ me."

Brittany feels like the air has been stolen from her, and she can't get it back – but she isn't struggling to breathe. Somehow, she just accepts it. She had never talked to either one of them about this, but had been able to figure it out just from watching them. Brittany feels that prickly, panicky sensation break out on her skin that happens any time they discuss things that are generally taboo.

Santana won't say anything. She just watches Quinn, and waits.

"You made everyone think that I'm a liar and unfaithful, and for _what?_ So I would be alone?" Quinn sounds bitter. "I trusted you, Santana. I _loved_ you."

"You dated him to _hurt _me!" Santana sounds shaky, like she's standing on a cliff. Brittany looks at her, worried.

"Because you told me _no!_" Quinn's voice sparks with anger. "Don't you _get_ that, Santana? Don't you get that this _entire_ time, all I've ever wanted was you and Brittany?"

"All you can talk about is what I've done _to_ you, Q," Santana sneers. "Have you ever stopped to think of what I've done _for_ you? I sold my soul to the devil to get Coach Sylvester to let you back on the Cheerios – and for _what?_ For you to turn around and betray me, and steal my position?" Santana shakes her head. "All right, I'll give you that one. Maybe I deserved it. But then I quit the Cheerios because you wanted me to!" Santana throws her hands out, palms up, fingers spread. "I didn't want to! I wouldn't have done if I didn't – if you didn't make me!"

Quinn glares at Santana. "You know why we did that, Santana."

"I know that you decided we were going to do it, and kept pushing me until I said yes," Santana shakes her head. "I did that for you. And after that, when I had no other reason to not be lumped together with all of the glee losers, I left Sam for you, too. Because you wanted me to. Every step of the way, I've been doing what _you_ want, Fabray, and I'm sick of it." She looks away, now. "I'm not committing suicide by being with you in public just to appease your ego. You don't control my life, Quinn!"

Quinn laughs; it's a short, sharp, harsh sound. "Do you really think this is about _control?_ Do you really think I want to tell you what to do with your life?"

Quinn reaches out, and Brittany feels her muscles clench; but instead of hitting Santana, Quinn just turns her chin, until they're looking at each other again. "It isn't about _control._ I don't want to tell you what to do with your life. I _love_ you, Santana. I am in love with you. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?"

Santana stares at Quinn for a long moment. Brittany feels like she's trembling – her limbs rattle and shake, her heart stutters weakly.

"I don't." Santana's voice is dull and almost defeated. "I want to, but I don't."

Brittany feels like she was slapped. She has to resist the urge to interrupt – she wants to say, _of course Quinn loves you! How can you not see it?_ – and instead, holds her breath, hoping it keeps the pain away.

Quinn's eyes are sad, but she nods. She doesn't react the way Brittany would have expected her to. "Do you love me?"

Santana swallows and looks at Brittany.

Brittany knows what she's going to say next, and it makes her want to cry.

"I love you both." Santana is quiet when she says it. "I might even be in love with Brittany. But I think you're in love with her too, Quinn," Santana gentles a little as she says this – as if she wants to deliver the blow as softly as she can. "I've always thought that. Maybe since that first night, when she kissed you. You've been in love with her this whole time."

Quinn lets her eyes spill over. She doesn't make a sound – but the steady trickle of tears is enough to make Brittany's heart squeeze and ache.

Brittany doesn't want to hear what Santana is going to say about her, but somehow she can't convince herself to open her mouth and stop it—

"And Brittany _thinks_ she's in love with both of us, but she isn't." Santana stares at the ground, now. "I don't think she really knows what being in love is."

"And you do?!" Quinn is back to being furious – but it comes out on a sob. Santana's expression is morose and apologetic when she looks back up. "You think you get to define love, Santana? You think you're the only one who gets to decide things like that?"

"I just know you." Santana offers a helpless shrug. "I know both of you, and I know this about you. It's really obvious to me."

"I don't understand you."

Brittany still wants to cry, but something inside of her is frozen. She feels like she's seeing Santana for the first time – but with more clarity than she has ever had. Quinn doesn't understand, but Brittany thinks she does; and it makes her feel hollow, like her bones have disappeared. She feels weak. She wants to sit down, go home, and forget about this. She doesn't want to be here anymore.

"I want to go," she whispers, so softly.

They both look at her, but she can't look at Santana. For the first time in a long time – maybe ever – Brittany doesn't want to _see_ Santana anymore. Even looking at Quinn's red, tear-streaked face causes her pain.

This is too much for Brittany, right now.

"Please," she can feel her insides crumbling. It feels like an earthquake. It feels like shattering.

"Okay." Quinn closes her hand around Brittany's quickly, and uses the back of the opposite one to dry her face. "Let's go, Britt."

"I'm sorry." Santana breathes.

Brittany can't look at her.

Brittany doesn't want to think, or act, or move. She watches Quinn pack up her school supplies, and follows behind her when she's done. They leave Santana standing there, wordless and alone.

Brittany doesn't think about that. She can't.

She won't talk to Quinn when they get to Quinn's house. Quinn doesn't push – but Brittany can read the concern in her eyes. Brittany wants to care, wants to help Quinn feel better, but she really can't do anything much more complicated than breathe right now.

Quinn leaves her alone beneath the blankets for a few hours, because she wants to keep studying. Brittany spends that time staring at the back of her eyelids and remembering.

When did Santana stop believing Brittany capable of love? When did that change?

Brittany remembers meeting Santana in Kindergarten. She remembers the first time she realized that she loved her – when they were in the first grade and covered in glue, and Santana cried when it got in her hair. Brittany wanted to cut it out, but Santana explained in half-English, half-Spanish sobs that Brittany certainly _could not_ cut any of her hair out. Brittany thought she was so pretty and silly all at once, and she wanted to kiss her.

Brittany fell in love with Santana Lopez by degrees. It was the sort of thing that took time – it didn't bubble up all at once, though parts of it often it came in a rush, or a wave. She doesn't think she could love Santana more, but then she always surprises herself; and Brittany doesn't think there is really an end to the depths of it.

She thought Santana knew that.

It doesn't really register with her, at first, what Santana said. Something about it doesn't really compute. She wants to bury it in disbelief – she wants to think that Santana lied. But something inside of Brittany tells her that Santana didn't; that Santana, for once, was being completely honest with them.

Brittany had thought, all along, that Santana was afraid of admitting her own love; for Brittany, or Quinn, or both. Brittany had thought Santana was just afraid of being in love – because it makes you vulnerable and weak, and Santana can only see those kinds of things, instead of the beautiful ones.

It devastates her to find out how wrong she was.

Brittany doesn't want to remember anymore. She doesn't want to spend any more time going back through her life, reliving all of the years in slow agony – when they learned to ride their bikes together, picnics, swimming at the waterpark. Christmases, birthdays, barbecues. It all hurts. She feels like the memories are lies.

When Quinn crawls into bed with her, Brittany is filled with relief, grateful for the distraction. She pulls and tugs at Quinn's body, her hands and lips urgent, hot, impatient. She wants to forget.

"I love you," Quinn's voice is desperate and breathy. "I love you, Brittany."

Brittany doesn't want to hear it, because it just makes her remember Santana. She uses her fingers and mouth on Quinn in an effort to erase the cold, dead feeling inside of her; and no matter how furiously she makes Quinn's body arch and quake, the helpless knot doesn't budge.

Quinn is breathless and shaky when Brittany stops, climbing up the length of the bed to lie beside her. Quinn rolls until she is tucked against Brittany, her arms and legs sprawling.

Brittany can smell Quinn's sweat, and the damp scent of the sticky fluid between her legs, and it makes her want to hold Quinn and hide her face in Quinn's hair. So she does; she gathers Quinn close, inhaling, pressing her lips to Quinn's scalp.

When Quinn says it on a breath – nearly inaudible – "I love you," and Brittany feels it trickling across the bridge of her breastbone, a soft, ticklish whisper, it makes her insides squeeze and clench, and then crack.

She keeps her face pressed against Quinn while she cries. Her tears are a firestorm breaking free – scorching a path down her cheeks, into her hair, covering her face and neck. By the end of it, Brittany has nearly forgotten how it feels _not_ to cry, because her sobs are so powerful and prolonged that her entire body is worn out and exhausted. Her throat is swollen and raw, and she can't breathe through her nose. Quinn murmurs softly, stroking her palms down Brittany's stomach and hips, but she doesn't try to impede the flood.

Brittany doesn't remember how to feel normal. She feels wrong – she feels off-balance, caught in vertigo. She clings to Quinn because Quinn is steady and familiar, but part of Brittany questions even that, too.

Brittany has lived her life with a kind of security that comes from feeling as if she could trust her sense in people; her instincts have never been wrong before. But this thing with Santana – it changes everything.

Brittany feels like something fatal has happened to her; that she has lost a limb, or is hemorrhaging ceaselessly.

It only causes a freshet of tears when she realizes that what she really lost is Santana.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, soooo long between updates. I'm so sorry! It's my every intention to have the next ones come out more quickly. I appreciate your patience, and as always, thank you so much for reading.


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